Dangerous Professions
by marauderswagger
Summary: Five years after graduating, Hermione is a curse-breaker for Gringotts. Although it's a dangerous profession, her new position as Professor of Arithmancy at Hogwarts may prove to be equally challenging when Tom Riddle finds interest in his new professor. Did she make a huge mistake in doing this favour for Professor Dumbledore? AU. professor/student. M for eventual smut. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I couldn't help myself with this one. I thought of it while I was driving and it's stuck with me ever since, so I figured I'd better write it and let my mind take me where it wants to go.**

 **This is AU, so please keep that in mind as you go forward. People are in times that aren't regularly their own, different professors, people still alive, etc.**

 **Please let me know what you think! No comments are bad comments.**

* * *

She had been reluctant to respond to the letter.

It had arrived while she was at the worksite in Egypt, addressed appropriately despite the exact location being kept under wraps by the ministry. It always boggled her mind how he knew just where to find someone.

 _Miss Hermione Jean Granger_

 _Tent Outside Pyramid of Djoser, Southern Pavilion Necropolis_

 _Saqqara, Egypt_

Her hands had a slight shake to them as she opened the letter - he hadn't been known to reach out to his students after they graduated unless there was a rather difficult problem he couldn't solve or he needed a favour. Apprehension sent waves of discomfort throughout her body, telling her that either reasoning was usually never a good thing.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _I apologize for not writing to you sooner; I've been quite busy with the school and haven't had the time for such pleasantries. It is with regret that I inform you this letter isn't intended for that purpose, either._

 _It seems we have a position available at Hogwarts - and if my memory serves me correctly, it's regarding a subject you always excelled at and continue to do so in your career. I can think of no other person better suited to teach Arithmancy than you, Miss Granger, as you have always been so passionate on the subject._

 _If you are up for it, consider it a favour to me for you to take over the position. Classes start within a month, and without an Arithmancy Professor, I'm afraid the students will be missing out on a very important part of their education._

 _Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. If you are agreeable, I will arrange for a portkey to transport you to the castle._

 _Most sincerely,_

 _Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

She had read the letter time and time again, worrying her bottom lip as she struggled to make a decision.

She _enjoyed_ being a curse-breaker. She liked the thrill of excavating through the tombs of Egypt to find magical objects otherwise hidden to the world. She liked the danger of disabling and countering curses that had been around for centuries, most unknown to the present magical world. She wasn't even bothered that witches and wizards greater than her had died from this exact profession - she was passionate about her job, and that was that.

Professor Dumbledore had struck a chord with her, however; she couldn't stand the thought of students missing out on Arithmancy and the knowledge that came with it. Sure, it was a difficult subject; but those who worked hard and mastered it always went on to great things. Without Arithmancy during her school years, she wouldn't be where she was today. Ancient Runes and Charms were important to her career as well, but Arithmancy is what got her the job with Gringotts in the first place. She couldn't take the same opportunity away from another person simply because she was enjoying her time in Egypt.

Hermione sighed and cast a wordless spell to pile her frizzy hair in a knot upon her head; one thing Egypt didn't do for her was make her hair any better. The heat caused her hair to double in size and that was no easy feat, seeing as it was usually quite messy to begin with. She wasn't worried about her appearance here, though, among the dead and the few colleagues who joined her on her quest - so she always let it go, either in a messy knot or a similarly messy plait.

The pecking of the brown barn owl upon her desk seized her attention and she glared at it, frustrated with its impatience.

"Alright, alright," she growled, grabbing parchment and a quill to write a response. She hastily wrote her decision and signed her name before she could change her mind, rolling the paper and attaching it to the bright-eyed bird's leg. "Sorry, I don't have any treats. Off you go." She waved her hand in dismissal and watched the owl take off.

Hermione looked around the spacious tent that she shared with her three colleagues and groaned.

She _hated_ packing.

* * *

Hermione arrived outside the castle doors only a day before classes were set to begin. She couldn't leave her job as quickly as she had planned, as her colleagues had stumbled upon a tomb that had yet to be discovered in the maze beneath the Pyramid of Djoser. It had given them quite a difficult time, more so than any of the other obstacles they encountered in their work together. Two weeks, about a dozen wards, and three scars adorning her abdomen later, it had been opened. It took all she had to pull herself away from the discovery, seething with frustration at herself for agreeing to leave the project behind.

She shivered and huddled into herself as the wind blew around her. She wasn't used to the chill associated with the Scottish Highlands anymore and desperately hoped to get acclimated soon; until then, she knew she would be ridiculously overdressed in excessive layers until her body adjusted.

The massive wooden doors shuddered in front of Hermione, slamming open with a loud _bang_ as her former Professor came to greet her. He looked the same as he had five years ago: flowing white beard that reached the ground, dark red robes adorned with what appeared to be stars sparkling in random places, and half-moon spectacles that aided in the sight of his bright blue eyes, always twinkling with knowledge that no one else was privy to.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Dumbledore greeted, flourishing his wand to levitate her bags inside. "Do, come in! I've been waiting for your arrival." He turned and began walking the opposite way, expecting her to follow his lead. "I'm very thankful for your kindness in helping the school. There's simply no other person better to fill the position, and I know Mr. Potter will be glad to have your company."

Hermione nodded in agreement, a grin filled with excitement beginning to form on her face. Harry had taken the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts the year prior; they regularly corresponded through mail, maintaining their close friendship even when countries apart. "I'm thrilled to see him, sir. I haven't had the opportunity to see him since beginning my project at Djoser."

"I hope you don't mind, but I've invited him to my office as we discuss your position. I'll be sending your bags to your room so you can get settled in after."

The pair made their way to the Headmaster's office and Hermione struggled to contain her chuckle at his password - 'chocolate covered quills' - that was always centered around treats. The Gargoyle stepped aside and allowed the two to make their way up the moving stone staircase, entering the beautiful circular room that held most of Dumbledore's belongings, including his beloved phoenix, Fawkes.

"Hermione!" A voice called out followed by a blur of black, messy hair. She beamed with happiness as she was almost knocked over by her best friend's hug. She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could.

"Harry, I've missed you!" She pulled away to look into his emerald eyes that always held a spark of mischief. "I can't believe it's so been so long-"

"I know. _I_ can't believe you agreed to join the staff, what with all of your fancy adventures throughout the world-"

She hit his shoulder but smiled fondly at him. "They're not fancy adventures, they're _research_ , and I couldn't allow students to not experience Arithmancy! It's one of the most important subjects this school offers."

"Agree to disagree, then," Harry winked at his oldest best friend and gave her a cheeky smile. "I'm quite fond of Defense Against the Dark Arts myself, but perhaps I'm biased."

Professor Dumbledore interrupted them with a laugh and instructed Harry and Hermione to sit down as he took a seat behind his spacious yet cluttered desk.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your reunion, but I feel it's best to get Miss Granger settled into her new position before the start of term tomorrow." He softened his words with a quick wink, then handed Hermione a thick folder. "Here's the information on your students. As Professor of Arithmancy, you'll be in charge of Arithmancy from third year on, as well as Advanced Arithmancy Studies. I've looked over your course plans for the first few weeks - thank you for your quick work - and everything is appropriate. I wasn't trying to flatter you when I told you that you were the best for this position; you have a lot of practical applications of Arithmancy that I feel will be very beneficial to the students."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione replied, flushing with pleasure at the compliment anyway. "I hope to do the position justice. Is there anything I should be aware of before the start of term tomorrow?"

The Headmaster hesitated before responding, knowledge swirling in his bright blue eyes as he internally debated whether to share information with her.

"For now, I think not. If you have any issues or… _thoughts_ on any of your students, you know where to find me." He clapped his hands and caused her to startle slightly. "Nothing to worry about for now. Mr. Potter will show you to your office and sleeping chambers to help get you settled. I have a few other things to complete before the students arrive."

She quirked an eyebrow at Harry over Dumbledore's cryptic answer but decided to bring it up later. She was exhausted from her travels and could use all the rest she could get before classes began.

The two friends hooked arms as they made their way to her office, catching up on each other's lives quickly. He was astonished at how tan her skin had become, shifting from light and almost translucent to a warm golden brown hue. Harry joked that her career forced her out of the library and out into the sun, and she agreed; while she still adored books and anything regarding knowledge, she loved the feeling of the sun on her skin.

Hermione found her face hurting from all the smiling and laughing she had done since her reintroduction to Hogwarts. She had felt waves of nostalgia crash over her upon seeing her closest friend back in the corridors that they had trekked only five years before, but she was thankful for the reunion. Harry and Hermione always fell back into their same routines whenever they reunited, and it comforted her to know she would have her best friend with her as she started her new journey in a familiar place.

Harry had stayed with her for most of the day and into the night to help her unpack and arrange her classroom the way she'd like before they parted ways, leaving Hermione to rest before the students - _her_ students - arrived the next day.

* * *

Hermione entered the Great Hall that following night adorned in her best dress robes, coloured a dark ebony and lined with scarlet. She couldn't help but wear something that was an homage to her house when she attended Hogwarts; after all, she was still a Gryffindor at heart. She had even attempted to tame her hair that she hadn't bothered to mess with in nearly a year. It was quite the struggle, but she had managed to get it to behave enough to allow her to braid it into a pretty plait with loose - albeit wild - curls framing her face. She couldn't ever get _all_ of her hair to stay in one place, so it would have to do.

She joined the other Professors at the High Table and sat down next to Harry as the students began to file in, led by the Head Boy and Head Girl. She found her hands clammy from nerves as the Great Hall filled - surely there weren't that many students when she attended Hogwarts? - and she felt Harry give her hand a quick but tight squeeze.

"Breathe, Hermione," Harry whispered, keeping his eyes forward and smiling at his students. "They're children, and you're a bad-ass. Stop stressing."

Hermione grinned at him and threw her head back in a laugh at Harry's choice of words. He always knew how to make her feel better.

She looked out at the four tables once again, now full, and realized that most eyes were on her. She straightened her back in her chair and raised her chin, determined to be the epitome of confidence despite her nerves. She let a small smile show on her face, hoping she wasn't making a poor first impression.

"Before we get to the sorting," Dumbledore began, silencing the murmuring students. "I'd like to introduce you to your new Professor of Arithmancy - Professor Granger." He held his hand out and gestured for her to stand.

Hermione stood quickly and waved, kicking Harry's chair to interrupt his snickering at her jumpiness. Professor Dumbledore sent her a wink and she smiled warmly at him before sitting down once more.

"Professor Granger was a curse-breaker for Gringott's before she left to teach here. She is well equipped to teach you anything you should know about Arithmancy. Now, to the sorting!"

Hermione was thankful for the change of subject, namely away from her, and watched as the first years were sorted. She clapped when it was appropriate and was thrilled when food appeared in front of her; she didn't realize how much she had missed the food at Hogwarts.

She made small talk with Harry and Professor Slughorn beside her throughout their meal. Slughorn was overly excited to have her join the staff, as his booming voice had announced several times through the night. She had been one of his favourite students - 'brightest witch of her age, after all!' he'd declare - and she knew he had bragged about teaching her after she graduated and moved on to bigger things. Some things never changed.

Before long the dinner was over and students began filing back to their dormitories, led by the prefects. One student, however, had lingered back, waiting to approach the professor's table until most of the students were gone.

He had dark brown hair, very close to black, that was curled and parted expertly to frame his face. His bone structure was that of aristocrats; defined jaw, straight nose, and perfectly symmetrical. She noted that he was from Slytherin from his robes and tie, and Head Boy from the badge pinned to his chest.

She would have found him attractive had she been five years younger.

"Pardon me, Professor," The boy said, addressing Professor Slughorn in a low baritone. "I couldn't help but overhear your praises of our newest Professor -" His dark eyes darted to Hermione quickly before returning to Slughorn. "I felt I needed to introduce myself."

"Of course, m'boy, of course! Always the gentleman, that Tom Riddle," Slughorn boasted, looking fondly at his student. "Professor Granger, this is Tom Riddle - Head Boy and from my house, of course - I'd dare say, had he been in school with you, he'd give you a run for your money!"

Hermione raised her eyebrow at her former Professor and turned to Tom, giving him a pleasant smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Tom. If Professor Slughorn here is right, it's safe to assume you're in my Advanced Arithmancy Studies, yes?"

"Your assumptions are correct, Professor Granger. Arithmancy has always interested me, and I can't help but find myself intrigued by your line of work." He gave her a charming smile, flashing perfectly straight and white teeth. Her parents would've loved to have him as their patient.

"It's quite dangerous but very rewarding," Hermione agreed. "I can't share much information about the excavations I'm working on, but I'll do my best to help with practical applications of Arithmancy."

She noticed a greedy gleam in his eyes at her mentioning excavations but it disappeared quickly, replaced with innocent interest.

"I look forward to classes then, Professor Granger," Tom replied with a small smile. "If you'll excuse me, I must ensure the prefects have delivered the other students to their dormitories on time." He nodded his head to Slughorn, Hermione, and Harry as he turned to exit the Great Hall. Hermione stared after him, noticing his hands laced behind his back and his posture perfectly straight.

"Is he always that… Proper?" Hermione asked as Harry ushered her from her seat to exit the Great Hall as well. "He seemed a bit odd."

Harry nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "He's been that way since I started last year. He's incredibly bright, almost as bright as you," he bumped her shoulder with his playfully. "But he's a bit restrained, I've noticed. Different than the other students."

"Well, if he's as good as you and Slughorn say, I look forward to having someone interested in being challenged in my courses."

As she lay in bed that night, she thought of dark, obsidian eyes, glowing with secrets that she wasn't quite certain she should attempt to decipher - but similar to her curse-breaking, she found herself determined to do so anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I decided to split this chapter in two in order to get an update out more quickly. If in the future you'd rather I keep the chapters long and update less often, let me know in a review - I'm happy either way. I figure keeping the chapters this length will result in about an update a week, whereas if I keep them longer I'll probably update once a month (as long as my schedule allows it).**

 **As for some of the questions I received: This takes place around 2002, roughly 5 years after Harry and Hermione would've graduated from Hogwarts. The first wizarding war still happened, but the rise of Voldemort has not, as Tom is still in school. He has still opened the Chamber of Secrets, resulting in the death of Myrtle, and also killed his parents. I've just messed with the timeline a bit to make the Professor Granger/Student Riddle thing work out. Also with this being AU, no prophecy. The rest of the questions will be answered in due time :)**

* * *

The first half of the following day had passed by in a blur. She had third, fourth, and fifth years before lunch and free period after, followed by sixth years and her Advanced Arithmancy Studies as her last course of the day.

Hermione found herself quite nervous with her first class; she had stumbled over her words a few times but her third year students were very kind and didn't seem to mind. That of course could've had something to do with them being extremely overwhelmed by the concepts of Arithmancy, but she was grateful for their oversight of her jitters nonetheless.

With each class she found herself gaining confidence and reverting back to speaking with the authority she had as Head Girl; knowledgeable and precise, but without the 'I know more than you' tone her eighteen-year-old self had. She no longer focused on verbally destroying anyone who dared to challenge her intelligence - she simply knew that her intelligence would show in her work and magical skills and worried less about what her peers had to say.

It was with that self-assurance she found herself walking into the Great Hall that afternoon for lunch. Back straight, chin high, loose brown curls bouncing behind her with each step she took. She took her seat between Horace and Harry and greeted them both warmly.

"It seems your classes went well then, Hermione," Harry said, returning her smile. "I told you this would come to you naturally."

"It's gone brilliantly, really. Much better than I expected," She said with a breath of relief, tucking her hair behind her ear. She had decided to keep her hair down that day, using only a few spells to keep her hair from appearing as though birds were nesting in it. "I've missed the human interaction if I'm being honest."

"But you've been working with Bill, yeah? Surely the Weasleys aren't still holding a grudge over your broken enga-"

Hermione silenced Harry with a glare and elbowed him, causing him to rub his arm and send his friend a questioning look.

"Shall we announce it to the entire student body, then? I don't think Filch heard you from his little post at the end of the hall."

He smiled sheepishly at her and ran his hand through his ever-messy black hair; a habit he undoubtedly picked up from his father. "Right. Sorry about that."

"No worries. We're on decent enough terms at this point." A small group of owls flew into the Great Hall at that moment, arriving to deliver the few late packages that missed the morning rounds. She thought she saw a glimpse of black feathers that seemed familiar-

"Speak of the devil!" She exclaimed, the owl dropping a letter in front of her before continuing out of the hall. "That was Bill's owl. They must've found something interesting." She waved her wand over the letter and felt magic pulsating around it, more than likely meaning it could only be opened by Hermione herself. "Er- sorry, Harry, I have to read this. In private. Surely you understand-"

Harry held up his hands in acknowledgment of the necessary secrecy, displaying that he wasn't taking it personally. "Go on, read your secret letter, then. Leave me out of the loop-" She interrupted his sentence with a quick _smack_ over his head with the letter and he gave her a mischievous smile. "In all seriousness, go ahead. But when you return, I do have a favour to ask of you."

"Favours, favours," Hermione raised an eyebrow at him as she stood to leave. " Seems everyone has needed favours from me lately. Alright. We'll discuss when I'm finished. I hope it's good news!" She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice over the potential discoveries her colleagues had made.

She left the Great Hall as quickly as she could without breaking into a full-on sprint; she wanted to read the letter desperately, but didn't want to send the students into a fit of panic because of it. She still felt eyes on her as she slipped out of the Great Hall but was unconcerned as she searched for an empty classroom to safely open Bill's findings. She managed to find one rather quickly - after all, how could a castle this large put to use _all_ of its rooms? - and slipped inside, warding the door behind her to alert her if someone tried to enter.

 _Professor Hermione Granger_

 _Great Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

 _Scottish Highlands_

Hermione held her wand over the letter to reveal the blue ward that surrounded it, then gently poked and prodded at the ward itself to allow it to identify her. She hummed to herself as the ward surged underneath her wand, almost as though it was a heart beating with irregular palpitations. It flexed outwards as its movements increased, then stopped all at once before turning a bright green and disappearing into nothingness. Had someone other than Hermione attempted to open the envelope, they would have received a nasty burn and the letter would've burst into flames. She involuntarily shuddered at the thought.

 _Hermione,_

 _We have reason to believe that there's a chamber connected to this tomb. There's something powerful around this area, I can feel it in the air - it's heavy with magic, so we have to be close. We found some gold and other measly treasures, but the curses protecting them were weak - suspiciously weak. I think it's just a decoy to distract from what's really here. Just a gut feeling, I guess, as we haven't stumbled upon it yet. But we're trying to be careful - don't want to end up like the muggle we found with three heads, y'know._

 _Will reach out when we find anything more. The lads and I knew you'd be have a spasm without any updates and didn't really want to receive any howlers anytime soon._

 _Hope all is well at Hogwarts. Be easy on the students._

 _Bill_

Hermione lit the letter on fire with a quick _incendio_ and sighed. She was enjoying her time at Hogwarts but was disappointed to miss out on the action back in Egypt. The rush of finding something that's been hidden from the world for so long was addictive, as was the adrenaline that came from the danger of the potential curses protecting the items. She certainly wouldn't find that at Hogwarts, but she'd have to make due. She wasn't the type to bail on a commitment.

Ensuring there wasn't a trace of the letter remaining, she removed the ward on the classroom and left, making sure to shut the door behind her before turning to head back out to the Great Hall - and promptly ran into a tall, immovable object that smelled of cinnamon and parchment. She let out a small squeal of surprise at the unexpected collision and backed up quickly, realizing the 'immovable object' was in fact a man's chest. She felt her cheeks colouring red from embarrassment when the man grabbed onto her elbows to steady her.

"Are you alright, Professor Granger?"

"Yes, of course, so sorry for bumping into you-" Hermione looked up to see who the appealing voice belonged to and was almost certain that her face caught fire when she finally put a face to the voice.

Of course, of all the people for her to run into and make a fool of herself in front of, it had to be Tom Riddle - Slughorn's golden boy.

He gave her an easy smile, his expression smug from her obvious flustered state. His hands lingered on her a moment too long before he released her and stepped back, allowing her to appreciate him at his full height. He had to be at least 6'3, easily overcoming her meager 5'5, and she found it necessary to remind herself rather explicitly that he was her student and she needed to _stop oggling him_.

"Not a worry at all. I noticed you leave the Great Hall in quite a hurry and I wanted to ensure nothing distressful caused it." His voice was laced with concern that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"All is well, Mr. Riddle, I can assure you that," Hermione said, clearing her throat and straightening her robes - today she decided to go with all black, hoping to look as professional as possible for her first day of teaching. "Thank you for your concern, but following me was unnecessary." She gave him a small smile to soften her words. "You're Head Boy! You've so much more freedom than you did as a prefect. You've better things to do than check up on your new professor."

"I take my Head Boy duties very seriously, and that extends to the professors as well." Tom gave her a charming smile that she was certain would make even the nastiest of beasts give pause. "From your familiarity with Head duties, I take that you were Head Girl of your year?"

"Yes, alongside Harry - excuse me - Professor Potter," she corrected, chiding herself for not using formal names for her fellow professors. She found it difficult to think of Harry as anything other than, well, _Harry_. "It was a bit overwhelming with all of the NEWT level courses we were taking, but definitely well worth it."

"It seems we have more in common than I'd thought," Tom murmured. He looked deeply into her eyes as if he was searching for an answer of sorts, and she felt it develop into a challenge of who would be the first to break eye contact.

Hermione returned his gaze, but found herself growing uncomfortable with his scrutinizing stare; she couldn't help but feel he was somehow pinpointing her weaknesses from the simple interaction, and it was she who broke eye contact first. She would've sworn she heard a low chuckle slip from him, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if she imagined it.

"If you don't mind me asking, Professor Granger, what made you leave so quickly?"

"Just letters from a colleague, checking to see how I'm acclimating," she answered in a nonchalant tone, keeping her response as vague as possible.

His eyes gleamed with interest the same as they did the night before when she spoke of her career; it made his expression appear almost dark - the outlines of his facial structure seemed sharper than she observed yesterday, his cheeks more hollow; she couldn't help the sense of unease that washed over her from that look.

"Hopefully some interesting news, then? I can't imagine you'd rush out during lunch for a simple check-in - it appeared from your pace that you expected quite more than that."

"Mr. Riddle, you don't know me well enough to make such assumptions," Hermione insisted, his commentary and intrusive behavior provoking her. "And frankly, my personal correspondence isn't anything for you to concern yourself with. If you're quite finished, we should return to the Great Hall. Lunch will be ending soon and I imagine your friends are missing you." She gave him a stern look to ensure he understood it was not up for discussion and gestured for him to walk ahead of her.

She couldn't describe the look that crossed his face, but it was even less comforting than his expression before; a mixture of anger and disbelief battling for dominance over the other. Hermione thought Tom would try to argue with her, but instead he simply agreed, the turmoil all but gone from his expression.

"Yes, ma'am," the Head Boy said, bowing his head in mock respect towards her, his tone and body language all but screaming insincerity. Hermione found herself seething over his obvious mocking, and the smug smile he shot her as he turned to leave certainly did nothing but fuel her annoyance. As immature as she knew it was, she found herself glaring at his back as he turned and trailed off, hands casually in his pants pockets and his stride showing nothing but ease.

What a _prick._ Now she understood why Harry described him as oddly quiet; if he opened his mouth, surely his peers wouldn't think him so perfect when he mocked them as plainly as he did her.

She scoffed as she remembered Slughorn's words: 'had he been in school with you, he'd give you a run for your money!' _Certainly not._

Hermione shook her head at her internal dialogue as she made her way back to the Professor's table, disappointed at her automatic response to a student. Tom Riddle was merely a boy; an odd one, certainly, but still a boy just the same. She shouldn't judge his entire character on one chance interaction. She didn't want to be one of those teachers who didn't give the students a chance like Professor Snape hadn't with herself and Harry, whether it was in or out of the classroom. She refused to be the female equivalent of Severus Snape; most notably in hair care - she shuddered at the thought of his greasy mane - but also in kindness and acceptance of her students. She resolved to be less hot-headed and more open-minded as she reclaimed her seat between Slughorn and Harry.

"Everything alright on the homestead?" Harry asked, finishing off his goblet of water in one large gulp. It appeared he finished his meal while she was gone - something that would have bothered Molly Weasley but did not phase Hermione. She couldn't care less if someone waited on her arrival to simply sit down and eat a meal.

"Yes, just Bill checking in," Hermione replied, trying to quickly eat as much from her plate without appearing to be a total barbarian. Her run-in with the Riddle boy had taken more time than she had thought, and she barely had any time to eat before lunch ended. "Nothing too new."

"Well, if that's the case, then my favour might be of interest to you," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at her in an absurd manner.

Hermione snorted and struggled to keep herself from choking on her food. "Oh, yeah? Out with it, then." She gestured with her fork for him to continue.

"Would you be interested in being a guest in my class today?" His eyes darted to her face to read her expression. "It's about cursed and hexed objects. Right up your alley! And y'know, it could be comforting, working on something you're so familiar with-" Harry rambled on quickly as though the longer he talked the more likely it was that she'd agree.

"That's next period, right?" She asked, keeping her expression neutral. He nodded eagerly in agreement. "Well, I suppose it _is_ my free period.." She pretended to think about it as long as she could before saying yes.

Harry grinned at his best friend in response. "You won't regret it, Hermione. The look on our students' faces at your curse-breaking skills will be worth it."

"I already agreed, Harry, you don't need to continue to compliment me. Although I am quite good at curse-breaking, aren't I?" She gave him a cheeky smile and bumped shoulders with him, then wiped her mouth before throwing her napkin over her plate and standing. "I don't want any details on the curses - it'll make it more realistic if I don't know ahead of time."

Harry stood with her and lead the pair out of the Great Hall, most of the students trailing ahead of them. "I knew you'd be perfect for it."

She gave him a fond smile as they headed towards Harry's classroom, and she couldn't help but feel excitement bubbling in her stomach from the opportunity to show Harry _and_ her students just how well-fitted for her position she was. She still enjoyed showcasing why she was called the brightest witch of her age. After all, she was _Hermione Granger -_ and old habits certainly die hard.

* * *

 **I wonder who Harry has in his next class? Hmmm...**

 **Please review/let me know what you're thinking! I'm on tumblr as marauderswagger if you find yourself wanting to chat.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Updated about a week later than I intended, but updated nonetheless! Let me know what you think in the reviews/comments. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine.**

Harry and Hermione arrived at his classroom moments before the class was set to begin and Hermione found it difficult to restrain herself from scolding Harry for it; she hated being on time, much preferring to be early and prepared. As they strode to the front of the room she took note of the table holding five separate objects, seemingly mundane. A golden goblet that must've been smuggled from the Great Hall, a quill, a rather old-looking book, a plate, and a diamond necklace. She raised an eyebrow at Harry, eyes darting from him to the necklace, and Harry's face turned scarlet; she recognized it as one he had gifted to Ginny before graduation and wondered why he had it in his possession.

Before she could question him about it, Harry stepped forward, clearing his throat and clapping his hands together. "Alright, class! I've got a bit of a treat for you today - instead of listening to me babble about cursed and hexed items, you'll all get to experience the knowledge firsthand from a certified curse-breaker. For those of you who don't remember, this is Professor Granger, who kindly took over the Arithmancy courses for the year." He gave a wide smile to Hermione, motioning for her to step forward with him. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask; I'll let her take it from here." He let her take the floor, turning to the rolling chalkboard and writing 'Professor Granger' in his sloppy scrawl before sending her a quick wink and retreating to his desk.

"Hullo, class," Hermione greeted, flashing a warm smile to the room. "It appears Professor Potter has covered the bases regarding my introduction, so unless anyone has any preliminary questions, we can proceed—" she gave a brief pause, glancing around the room to ensure she wasn't missing any raised hands. "—Brilliant. So, moving forward!

"Who knows the most important part of curse-breaking?" She rubbed her hands together, partly from her lack of adjustment to the cold, but mostly to show her eagerness about the subject.

A pale hand hung lazily in the air.

"Yes, miss?"

"Bulstrode, ma'am. Isn't the most important part of curse-breaking.. I dunno, breaking curses?" The girl said with a sneer, finding joy within the titters of laughter from her classmates.

"While that certainly is an important part, Miss Bulstrode, it's imperative to ensure not only your safety, but the safety of those around you." Hermione said authoritatively, struggling to keep her smile from turning condescending. She straightened her back and continued. "I applaud you on your clever deduction, however; it is undoubtedly important to break a curse when you're focusing on curse-breaking. It's a shame I'll have to take five points from—Slytherin, is it?—for your tone." She watched as the mirth in the girl's eyes faded into disdain for her temporary Professor—Hermione could picture her teenage self patting her on the back for a job well done of putting a bully in their place.

She watched as some Gryffindors struggled to contain their glee at her immediate shutdown of the Bulstrode girl, while on the opposite end of the spectrum, Slytherins were torn between glaring at Hermione or the daft girl from their house for losing points. Quite frankly, neither were of concern to her, negative or positive; she never was one to tolerate ignorance, intentional or not, and she didn't need acceptance of that from those around her.

Another hand shot up and Hermione noticed blotches of ink stains maring the otherwise alabaster skin; she focused on this rather than the person whom it belonged to and requested they introduce themself.

"I believe we've met, Professor Granger, but for the sake of the continuation of this lesson—I'm Tom Riddle," a familiar baritone responded, his tone laced with traces of amusement. "I've read somewhere that varying curses and hexes require different levels of protection, depending on their severity; how do you decide which spell to cast before beginning?"

She sent him a thankful smile for ushering the class forward and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "Yes, Mr. Riddle, so sorry for the misunderstanding; happy to see you again. Other curse-breakers have a tendency to go about this somewhat recklessly, generally casting a simple _protego totalum_ to protect themselves and a small area around themselves. Quite luckily, with the help of my colleagues, I've found a bit more helpful way to determine the requirements to remove curses effectively but also safely."

She approached the table holding the cursed items and stood in front of the goblet, removing her wand from her robe pocket. "We've created a spell that colour codes the danger of the curse, using colours similar to that of a muggle stoplight: green shows no curses present, yellow means lower-level danger—usually entailing a hex rather than a curse—and red, which means a potentially dangerous or deadly curse is present on the item. It's important to note that this isn't always fool-proof; for example, a curse could be well disguised or difficult to read. That usually results in a white glow, and we take that with greatest caution. Please take note of the wand movement required for this spell—if done incorrectly, the spell is useless."

She brought her wand in a slow circle hovering above the goblet. " _Umbra periculum,"_ she said clearly and concisely before flicking her wand in a downward motion. The goblet began glowing a soft yellow and she gave a proud smile at it before striding to the chalkboard, writing out _umbra periculum_ underneath her name still etched on the board. "Not that I foresee anyone needing this spell unless they're particularly interested in pursuing a career in curse-breaking, but it's always good to have information."

Another hand shot in the air, this time dark and well manicured, attached to a Gryffindor student. Before Hermione could call on her, the girl spoke up. "Name's Alicia Spinett, Professor. Why aren't the most powerful protection spells used automatically rather than attempting to detect the strength of a curse? Wouldn't it be simpler to always use the strongest protection spells available rather than risk it?"

Hermione smiled absentmindedly at the question, thinking back to the usefulness of the spell in Egypt. "Well, my colleagues and I have a tendency to use for it for experimental purposes. You see, when we're on location, we're not dealing with curses and hexes of this time; they're spells that have long since been hidden, not fully available to the modern world. We use the spell to detect how dangerous a curse is because if they're not shown to be incredibly dangerous or deadly, we sometimes allow ourselves to be cursed or hexed to learn the properties of the spells.

"Ultimately, we hope to gain a better understanding of them. We hope to have the capabilities to replicate them in the future so we can learn how to properly remedy anything caused by it. Some of the curses we've stumbled upon are the building blocks to current well-known curses; if we can get an understanding of the origin, we can make huge strides towards finding cures for curses that have otherwise been thought permanent.

"Regardless of how secretive we are of our findings, it's impossible to keep the discovery of an old spell hidden for long, as most researchers insist on self-publishing their findings for the greater good of the wizarding community. It's important to get ahead of the crowd and have as much knowledge as possible."

Hermione heard scattered shuffling behind her that unsettled her, but she couldn't turn quickly enough. Harry was behind her in a flash—pulling on her arm firmly, holding up his pointer finger at his students to indicate needing a moment before dragging Hermione behind the chalkboard.

"Let's backtrack a moment. _You allow yourself to be cursed?"_ Harry whispered furiously, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "Are you _mental?"_

She grimaced at her best friend and hesitated to answer. "I— We— It's for _knowledge_ , Harry. If we didn't do it, someone else would! Not to mention how unlikely it is that they'd be knowledgeable enough to rem—"

" _That doesn't mean you're responsible for for the whole mess!_ " His voice rose from a whisper to a frantic squawk, not unlike the sound a mother-hen makes while protecting her chicks. Had it been a situation where his tone wasn't a direct result of something she did, she would've laughed; instead, she punched him in the arm for the breach of secrecy and peeked out behind the board, finding students leaning across desks in order to eavesdrop on their professors' conversation.

"Harry, maybe now's not the best time to get into this—" she nodded her head in the direction of the students almost falling over themselves to listen in. "You'll have to chastise me later for my contribution to society—" She shot him a dirty look, telling him just what she thought of his objections to her work, "—but for now, I have a class to tend to."

He nodded in acknowledgement, mouth set in a firm line and his emerald eyes sparking with anger. She was in for a famous Harry Potter Lecture later, certainly; she couldn't decide if she wanted to groan or stomp her foot in frustration—something she hadn't done since graduating— before straightening her robes and walking back out into the open space of the classroom, attention centered on the students as she returned to the goblet once more.

Hermione took a deep breath and gave them a bright smile, doing her best to pretend Harry had never interrupted in the first place. "Now, the main event: breaking a curse. There are a plethora of ways to go about it, and each curse-breaker has their own way to get the job done. I, personally, prefer to start with a _finite incantatem;_ simple and straightforward, and works more often than you'd think. If you find yourself stumbling upon a weakly cursed item, chances are that'll do the trick. You'll only need this next part if you happen to stumble upon a really nasty curse or dark item. If _finite incantatem_ doesn't work, I try to get a feel for it. What I'm about to do might seem odd, but it's _really_ useful.

"If you put your mind to it, you can will your magic to do things that you otherwise could not verbally ask for it to do. Many in the wizarding world believe your magical abilities are limited to spells you've already learned to cast, and that non-verbal spells can only be done with prior knowledge of a spell—that's simply not the case. You're able to push your magic into accomplishing much more than simple charms and hexes; if you refuse to put a limit on yourself, you'll find your magic can grow with you."

She closed her eyes and held both hands over the goblet, wand fisted in the right and palm open towards the goblet on the left. She imagined pushing her magic forward towards the item, allowing her magic to surround it, falling gently upon it as though it were snow falling from the sky; she urged her magic to analyze and pinpoint the weak points of the curse. She imagined it similar to an aura or a ward, pulsating beneath her hands as though it were a living, breathing being; she searched for a chip, crack, _anything_ to show the weaknesses of the curse. She finally felt what she could only describe as a gentle tug in her mind, bringing to her attention a miniscule crack in the design located at the bottom of the handle. She smiled triumphantly and opened her eyes, gold swirling wildly with pride.

She pointed her wand at the goblet and cast _penetrare praesidium_ and picked the goblet up without hesitation. "There we are—a curse-free goblet. It could be returned to the kitchens without a worry of harm from it, and all I had to do was push my magic to find the weakness of the curse. I've found it to be very similar to finding weaknesses in wards."

Murmurs broke out through the classroom and Hermione wasn't sure what to make of it; she worried she'd gone too far in describing the lack of limits when magic is involved, as it's usually taught with rules and restrictions through any formal schooling. It wasn't until she had graduated, discovered curse-breaking, and spent time with very creative, intelligent minds that she saw just how far she could push her magic. She didn't find it fair for students to not know how much they could accomplish if they learned to channel their magic—and with a small frown, she found she almost resented Hogwarts for not allowing young witches and wizards to achieve their full potential.

"Alright, alright," she started, waving a hand to regain the students' attention. "Despite it not being mentioned in your schooling prior to this moment, the principle isn't far-fetched. D'you think Nicolas Flamel created the philosopher's stone without pushing the limits a little? You can't be afraid to try something new; it's _your_ magic, and ultimately, it will accomplish only what you put time into doing." She looked out to see if she'd made a point to anyone, and she did manage to find understanding in some student's eyes—but none were as understanding as Tom Riddle's. His obsidian orbs glowed with appreciation and absorption, like he'd been speaking a foreign language his entire life and he'd finally met someone who was as fluent as he. It unsettled her slightly—she certainly wasn't surprised that the bright boy knew what she spoke about, but she couldn't help but wonder what he had used his magic to accomplish at seventeen.

"Okay, I think we have time for me to tackle a dangerous curse, yeah? I'm going to go through the first step quickly so we'll have an adequate amount of time to remove the curse properly."

She piled her curly hair into the closest semblance of a bun she could muster and cast a silent sticking spell to keep it out of the way as she advanced towards the diamond necklace sparkling on the table. If she knew Harry well enough—and she definitely did—he'd put the most dangerous curse on the item that was most significant to him. Repeating the movements she presented to the class earlier, she cast _umbra periculum_ once more; and surely enough, the necklace started glowing a deep red. She smirked victoriously towards Harry, regardless if he understood why, and readdressed the class.

"As I mentioned before, you can always start with _finite incantatem,_ but it's very unlikely to work on a dangerous curse without pin-pointing weak spots. You can even try others, such as _auferat malum_ or _deletrius_ —there's a slim chance you'll get lucky and they'll hit in just the right way, but chances are you'll have to search for its Achilles' heel."

She pushed her magic to find any cracks in the curse once more, describing to the class the steps she takes to do so as well as the feeling she gets when she does it—she always feels her magic traveling through her from somewhere deep in her chest, flowing like a static shock to her arms before pooling in her hands. She explained the warmth she feels as her magic adapts to her needs as well as the tug on her mind that points to the imperfection in the curse. After about five minutes of her efforts, she pointed her wand at a link in the chain and cast _penetrare praesidium_ and watched as the red glow emanating from the necklace faded into nothingness.

"Once you've found the weakness, no matter how miniscule it might be, you cast a spell to destroy the curse and focus on the area your mind showed you; with enough practice, the spell will attack the exact spot necessary in no time at all. It's slightly different in official curse-breaking, as the older spells we find are a bit trickier, but it's worth the effort." She clasped her hands in front of her and nodded to the class, content with her conclusion.

Harry stood from his desk and approached Hermione's side as he addressed the classroom.

"Alright, everyone; even though we spent a bit more time focusing on the principles of curse-breaking and the general logistics, we will continue practical use next week. I'd like two feet of parchment on the importance of protective spells and the different properties of each," he looked pointedly at the Bulstrode girl before resuming. "With luck, I might get Professor Granger to return and teach you some hands-on spells, or even to participate in a friendly duel to show you some different techniques. Now, off you go! I'll see you on Monday!"

The room was filled with the shuffling of parchment being stuffed into bags as the students began to file out of the classroom, and Hermione took the opportunity to speak with Harry.

"First, there's no bloody way I'm dueling with you in front of students, you're absolutely _mad_ —"

"I knew you'd like that suggestion—"

"—and _second_ , you've nothing to worry about when it comes to curse-breaking, Harry. I've got Bill on my side, and you know he'd die before he'd let anything happen to his mates." She softened during the second portion of her sentence, the slightest hint of guilt present from knowing her best friend was only worried about her.

Harry held up his hand and effectively halted her sentence. "We will discuss this later," He said, voice hard but his eyes betraying his forgiveness that was undoubtedly on the horizon. He nudged her with his elbow and nodded his head in the direction of a student approaching them. "Looks like Mr. Riddle was intrigued by your demonstration."

Sure enough, Tom Riddle approached her, a good-natured smile enhancing his features. "Excuse me, Professor Granger," he murmured, looking between her and Harry before continuing. "I was wondering if I could walk you to your classroom on my way to my next class? I find myself rather fascinated by your lecture - I was hoping we could discuss it further."

Hermione was bewildered by the difference in his tone from earlier that day; if she hadn't experienced his attitude personally, she wouldn't believe him to be capable of ever being anything but polite. She felt suspicion creeping into her thoughts again, attempting to taint her impression of the Riddle boy; despite her gut telling her to be wary, she squashed the feeling down. She wouldn't let her mind run wild and lead her to be unkind to a student.

"Yes, of course," she replied, smiling up at Tom. It was difficult to feel she had any authority over someone who towered over her as he did, but she'd gained plenty of confidence in herself through her years of being known as one of the brightest witches of her time—although at one point in her life, her confidence might have leaned more towards arrogance than it should have. She stood a little taller subconsciously before sending Harry a gentle wave. "We'll talk later, Ha- Professor Potter."

Harry simply returned a brief wave before wandering off, his last period being his free period; she could only imagine what things he could get into at Hogwarts being a Professor and having the Marauders Map, but she assumed she'd find out soon enough—Harry wasn't the best at keeping secrets, especially when it came to him finding something new and exciting.

Hermione and Tom exited the classroom and started their journey to the third floor, and although she found it extremely difficult, she refused to do anything but match his long strides. She was unwilling to straggle behind or allow anyone the pleasure of saying she couldn't keep up.

"So, Professor Granger—I'm surprised your lecture centered around magic that usually remains dormant inside most magical folk. However did you manage to convince the Headmaster to approve the subject?"

"Hmmm," she pretended to contemplate his question for a moment before responding, feeling as though he already knew the answer. "Well, if we're running on the assumption that I asked for permission, I'd probably say I presented the subject over tea and biscuits to butter him up so he'd be more likely to approve it; however, I did not ask for permission, so I suppose the point is moot, Mr. Riddle."

A small chuckle escaped before he could suppress it. "I figured as much, but I didn't expect you to admit it so easily."

"No point in being dishonest," she shrugged, mindlessly trying to tuck her hair behind her ear before remembering it was still in a messy bun atop her head. "It seemed like you were already familiar with the subject—is it something you've been working on?"

They reached the moving staircase and hopped on, Tom leaning his back against the railing comfortably—it was something she would be weary to do, knowing how jarring the stairs could be when locking in place. She shuffled to hide her hand clasping the rail in the hopes he wouldn't notice her juvenile fear.

"It's something I've dabbled in," he responded nonchalantly before shifting the conversation back to her. "How did you find information about it?"

"Well, I didn't hear much of it until I graduated," they moved to the next set of stairs, one step closer to their destination. "There are a few books in the library that mention untapped magical potential, but they don't go into much detail."

"So I've discovered."

"I had a feeling you'd already looked into it."

"The resources here, while helpful in the past, are not always useful. I know I'm capable of more than what is being taught here, and it's difficult to self-train something you're unfamiliar with."

"I understand that notion completely, Mr. Riddle," she said softly, looking up to evaluate his expression and finding a crestfallen student, disappointed by the refusal of his superiors to teach him something that would undoubtedly be beneficial to his future. It made her stomach flip uncomfortably and she remembered how she had felt similarly when she discovered what their educational system was intentionally withholding. She knew how unfair it was, and she didn't want to be the type of professor to knowingly deny her students the opportunity to learn.

They reached the third floor and approached her classroom in an awkward silence, avoiding the sixth-year students scrambling in the doorway to get their preferred seating. The pair stood there, staring at each other uncomfortably before Tom made to leave.

"Well, I'll let you get to your class, Professor Granger—"

"Wait!" Hermione reached out and almost grabbed his arm to stop him, but it was unnecessary; he had already stopped and was now looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip nervously, silently analyzing her options before she spoke up. "I haven't quite worked it out in my head, but I'm going to try to figure out a way to help you practice harnessing your magic." She said quickly, struggling to get the words out. She assumed it was something that was unlikely to be approved of by the Board of Governors, but she simply couldn't let Tom continue to practice by himself. She convinced herself that it was because he could cause himself harm—not because she was oddly drawn to him and wanted to pick his brain. From the talk around the castle, he was just as smart as she was, and it wasn't something she had encountered before. She similarly convinced herself it had nothing to do with his jawline that looked like it had been expertly carved by a revered sculptor, nor how his dark hair was always a perfect mess of curls—just enough to make it seem effortless, but never to the point that it was unkempt. No, she had decided her interest in him rested entirely in concern for his safety and to ensure he received the teaching a bright mind like his deserved.

"We'll talk about this later, but just—know that I'll figure out a way."

A slow smile started spreading across his face that brightened his features as it grew into a thankful grin, his white teeth all but sparkling. It distracted from how the happiness didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you, Professor Granger," he said slowly, putting emphasis on each word as his voice dripped with appreciation. "I'll put time in whenever I can—just tell me what works for you and I'll be there."

"Don't mention it—seriously, don't mention it," she added in afterthought. "I don't need any extra attention drawn to this until I speak with Professor Dumbledore, so keep this conversation secret, yeah?"

"Absolutely." His eyes flashed with something she couldn't describe before he looked at his watch. "I have to leave—Don't want to be late. I'll speak with you later, Professor."

Hermione nodded and said her goodbyes as he walked off, his long stride helping him to quickly disappear around the corner.

She took a calming breath and released her hair from its sticking charm and struggled to flatten it before entering her classroom. She fought to push her thoughts about Tom Riddle and her feeling of making a deal she would soon regret as far down inside her as she could manage. She still wasn't sure what was different about Tom Riddle from the rest of the students, but she had a feeling she would soon find out.


	4. Chapter 4

After the calm weekend Hermione had, she expected her week to be much the same; she was excited to really delve into things with her students and be able to share her knowledge without forcing it upon unwilling bystanders. Granted, she may still be forcing knowledge upon some, but they were her students—it was much more socially acceptable that way.

Unfortunately, things in Hogwarts had a tendency to take a turn for the worst at the drop of a wand, and the local rumour mill seemed to have churned out another wildly false claim: this time centered around _her._

The students weren't taking too kindly to her friendship with Harry—the students bothered were largely female, excluding the few odd males who decided to join in on the witch hunt—and had decided to start a bit of a battle with their newest professor.

Hell, Harry even had to prevent her from drinking her coffee in the morning, swearing that he had spotted a student try to slip a puking pastille in before the rest of the professors arrived for their breakfast. While she was previously enamoured with the business the Weasley twins had put together, she wasn't as amused when the pranksters' genius was directed towards her.

Unfortunately, her bad luck hadn't stopped there. She could handle the sneers and whispers that accompanied her wherever she went; she was, after all, the insufferable know-it-all of her year at Hogwarts (something that Harry suggested she should trademark—if she was going to have it brought up every time she was around, she should _at least_ benefit from it financially).

But she simply couldn't handle Peeves catching wind of the rumour and torturing her more than the students were. His voice was nails on a chalkboard as he floated through the corridors.

 _Wee-Potty and Granger, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes snogs, then comes MARRIAGE—_

She had attempted in vain to get him to stop; first asking kindly, then resorting to demands and stomping her foot—he had found that to be a right riot, his obnoxious cackling reverberating throughout the corridors and drawing even more attention to Hermione.

 _Ooooh, GRANGER DANGER! BETTER NOT BE NAUGHTY, POOR WEE-POTTY, OR SHE MIGHT JUST PUT YOU OVER HER KNEE!_

Hermione had been horrified, to say the least. She avoided eye contact with her students as much as possible, knowing that their imaginations were running wild and praying to Merlin and all things holy that they didn't truly believe that she would _spank_ Harry.

And that bloody prat hadn't even affected by it! He was doubled over with laughter the entire time Peeves belted his taunting songs off-key, and hadn't stopped even after she gave him a swift but powerful kick to the shin.

 _Aw, c'mon, 'Mione, he's just messing about—is it really that awful to be in a relationship with me?_

She seethed at the thought, knowing that _he_ wasn't the one getting things slipped into his drink; _he_ wasn't getting dirty looks every time he turned a corner—no. _He_ could simply sit back and laugh, not worry about a thing, while she had to deal with the onslaught of sneers from the students and jokes from Peeves.

Men always got off easy, didn't they?

* * *

The end of her classes couldn't've come any more quickly; by the time her seventh years were stuffing their school-bags and leaving her room, she was exhausted. She dropped her head into her hands, shielding her eyes from the incoming headache that always coincided with any large amount of stress she encountered. She was ready to crawl in bed and pretend the day had never happened, hide from the world for just one night; the transition from seeing three other people a day to a few hundred was overwhelming her senses. The noise, lack of personal space, and inability to think to herself for even five minutes at a time made her irritable, despite her best efforts to stay in good spirits—and after the day she had, she found herself regretting returning to Hogwarts, even knowing that she still would've accepted the position regardless of what she was currently enduring.

"Professor?"

A low voice interrupted her internal complaints, and she slowly lifted her head from hands, wincing at the influx of light largely differing from the darkness supplied by her palms.

"Yes, give me just a moment—" She blinked a few times, willing her eyes to focus on the person in front of her. "—Oh, Mr. Riddle! So sorry for—well—" she gestured to her herself in general, finding herself at a loss for words of what she was actually apologizing for.

"No need to apologize, ma'am," he chuckled, not unkindly; a pleasant surprise after all that she had dealt with that day. "I'm the one who disturbed you. I simply came to see if you'd had the opportunity to speak with Dumbledore about our private lessons?" Tom gave her an amiable smile, his straight white teeth only adding to his appeal.

"Yes, I actually have. First bit of good news I' have to share today, actually—Professor Dumbledore has agreed to allow private lessons outside of class, as long as I keep him informed of progress."

His answering grin was brilliant, and she could've sworn her heart stuttered at the sight; his entire face seemed to glow, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. Her mouth went dry and she struggled to keep it shut, not willing to openly gape at a student, no matter how bloody good-looking he was—

"That's great to hear, Professor. My apologies if this comes across as rude or impatient of me, but is that something we could start this week? I find myself very eager to begin." His eyes shone with greed, a look she had been told could be found in her own eyes whenever it came to attaining knowledge—so why did it make her want to squirm in her chair when she saw it in his?

"That would be nice, honestly—I could use a bit of a distraction after my general assault from the female population."

"Oh, regarding your relationship with Professor Potter? I've heard that from a person or two—"

"Merlin's beard—I am not in a relationship with Harry!" Hermione responded a little too loudly, standing from her seat and throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "Is it impossible to be _friends_ with someone in this castle without being bloody well _ostracized_?"

Tom's mouth twitched at her outburst and she scowled openly at him.

"I assume that was a rhetorical question; at any rate, I'll wager a response—yes, it _is_ nearly impossible."

"It was rhetorical, yes, but thanks for the confirmation." She grimaced, not wanting to address how their conversation had turned wholly too personal.

"Happy to help." He gave her a cheeky smile and leaned against the table at the front of the room, hands resting behind him to support his weight.

She felt her eyes move on their own accord to his uniform and took notice of his sweater conforming perfectly to his abdomen. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes back to his.

She swore she could detect humour in them, as though he had noticed her quick scan of his body—she cursed internally at herself and her hormones as her cheeks flushed, burning a path from her chest and neck.

"I—Well—sorry for the sudden outburst," Hermione quickly tried to draw attention from her inappropriate wandering eyes. "I'm not used to being back in the general population, I suppose, and could probably brush up on my manners."

"No need to apologize. Your honesty—although quite abrupt, I'll admit—is refreshing." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, brushing off her self-deprecation. "I didn't think there was any truth behind the rumours, anyway."

"I appreciate that," she gave him a weary smile.

"Peeves does have quite the pitch range though, doesn't he? I wouldn't be surprised if the entire castle was singing in unison with him tomorrow. Granger danger? _Instant_ classic."

"You're joking, right? Please, tell me you're joking." Hermione groaned and held back a shudder, already imagining the chorus of voices following her everywhere she went.

"I suppose we'll find out tomorrow." He responded grimly, shrugging his shoulders. Had it not been for the corner of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly, she would've decided right then and there to stay in her room for the entirety of the next day.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head, returning her attention to the entire reason he had stopped by.

"Putting my woes aside, when would be most convenient for you to start our lessons?" She sat back down at her desk and shuffled parchment around, searching for a free space to jot down their decision.

Tom hummed absentmindedly, chewing his bottom lip as he assumedly ran his schedule through his head. With his brow furrowed in thought, she felt he looked much older than merely seventeen—but that was neither here nor there.

"Well, I'm available on Tuesdays and Thursdays after dinner, if that's agreeable to you," he stated. He approached her desk and she was once more reminded of just how tall he was, his shadow enveloping her from her seat. She craned her neck to look up at him and felt positively dwarfed in comparison to him—a feeling that wasn't quite comforting to her. Looking at him from this angle, his features seemed even darker than usual; his already obsidian eyes now reminded her of a bottomless pit, with one misstep leading to an endless drop into oblivion. His boyish half-smile even appeared misplaced, almost like a caricature of what a true smile should be. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, knowing that her imagination was simply running wild from her frazzled brain after the stressful day she had, but she couldn't shake the ominous feeling that was emitting from the student in front of her.

"Professor Granger?"

She startled, not realizing she had left a gap in their conversation.

"Yes! Sorry, I've several things running through my mind—"

"Are you feeling well? It looks like you've seen a boggart." His deep voice was laced with concern and his forehead creased as he examined her face.

"Just a rather long day," she gave him a reassuring smile to deter him from delving further. "Tuesdays and Thursdays work well for me, so we can begin tomorrow. We really should get to dinner now, actually—can't miss out on the treacle tarts, they're quite the commodity—"

He looked at her questioningly and she worried that he'd push the subject and ask even more about her too obvious facial expressions, but he seemed to think better of it. He nodded instead, and she breathed a sigh of relief—whether it was his business or not, she wasn't bloody well going to tell a student that he sometimes made her skin break out in gooseflesh from the creepy vibes that all but radiated from his skin.

 _Actually, I'm not doing too well—y'see, Tom, while you're certainly a kind, intelligent young man, you sometimes make me feel like you could reach over and strangle me without a second thought. Have I also mentioned that you're very handsome and I've fantasized about snogging you? No? Okay, I suppose that's a conversation for later. Now, how about that dinner?_

She snorted internally. That wouldn't go over well.

"Shall I accompany you, Professor? I don't mind keeping my bag with me instead of dropping by the dungeons."

"Oh, that's quite alright! I have to—um—organize some of these papers, then I'll be on my way. Do go ahead." She motioned for him to leave, looking down at the parchment sprawled across her desk so she wouldn't have to openly avoid eye contact with him any longer.

Sure, she was a Gryffindor—but she didn't always have to be brave, right?

She listened for the sound of his receding steps and didn't look up until she was certain he had left.

 _What in Merlin's name had she gotten herself into?_

* * *

Hermione returned to her classroom the following evening after dinner, anxious to start her lessons with someone she felt could truly be her intellectual equal (it had been suggested by Slughorn the night before that Tom Riddle could have the skill-set to surpass her at some point, and she vehemently protested the thought- equal? Possibly. Superior? Over her dead body).

She contemplated removing her outer robes to eliminate the feeling that these private lessons would be held in the same manner of her other courses, but ultimately decided against it. Her body temperature couldn't possibly continue to support her if she willingly removed another layer of protection from the chilling drafts of the castle; she was already having a difficult enough time with the extra clothing she was outfitted in. No warming charm could penetrate the cold she felt down to her bones. She missed the warmth that Egypt provided her even in the darkest of tombs, and certainly missed not having to wear fifty bleeding layers of clothing to even feel slightly comfortable.

She heard the tapping of leather shoes against the stone floor and was greeted by the sight of Tom entering the room. She flushed as she remembered how out of character she was the previous day and knew she'd have to explain to him that simply wasn't the way she was—Hermione Granger would _never_ act informally with a student, no matter how irritated or overwhelmed she had been. She was a professional, even with this being her first teaching position, and was worried she had already overstepped.

"Good evening, Professor," Tom greeted, bowing his head slightly towards her and placing his schoolbag at the desk at the front of the room. His tone and expression were both painstakingly polite, the shining example of a well-mannered student.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle," she returned with a cheery smile. "Are you prepared to do some practical magic?"

"Absolutely, ma'am." His posture remained rigid and voice devoid of any true emotion.

She felt a knot begin to form in her stomach.

"Please, call me Hermione. If we're to be working one-on-one on a subject that requires knowing oneself rather intimately, I feel you should be comfortable addressing me by my first name—during these extra lessons, of course."

"Of course," he repeated, pulling out a chair and sitting down, gesturing for her to do the same.

She hesitated before sitting down as well. She was too used to refusing to listen to direction from anyone but herself that she couldn't prevent the delay in movement as she commanded her body to sit down instead of continuing to stand out of spite. She didn't like being told what to do, even if it was the simplest of instructions.

He quirked an eyebrow at her awkward and abrupt movements, but didn't comment on them. He pulled at the legs of his pants to sit more comfortably, revealing black dress socks; she wondered briefly if he was the type to wear sock garters.

"Mr. Riddle—"

"If I'm to call you Hermione, you must call me Tom," he interjected.

"—Alright, _Tom,_ then—" she corrected with a quick smile, "I hope you can forgive me for the way I acted yesterday. I was simply out of line talking to you as casually as I did, and that's not something a well-learned professor would do—"

"Actually, it was a pleasant surprise," Tom interrupted. "Teachers don't often speak so candidly with their students, that portion is true—but it's… _reassuring_ ," He tested the word on his tongue before committing to it, "yes, _reassuring_ , to see that professors can have off-days just as any student has. It makes you more relatable."

"I—Well—" She struggled to find her train of thought. "I s'ppose I can't complain about being relatable. I'm not used to being out of my comfort zone when it comes to societal roles. With the amount of tutoring I did while in Hogwarts, I thought I'd be better prepared to transition to teaching formally. I don't want to overstep any boundaries." She absentmindedly played with the hair at the end of her plait, a tell-tale sign that she wasn't quite comfortable with the theme of the conversation being centered around her shortcomings.

"Trust me, Hermione," Tom said earnestly, giving her a charming smile and leaning towards her. "You've no need to worry about overstepping boundaries with me."

"Well, that's comforting," She said despite the way her stomach clenched at his words. Her teeth ached from the sweetness of his tone, and had he been a colleague or stranger of similar age, she would've thought he was flirting with her. "I'll keep that in mind. Shall we begin?"

He nodded immediately—ever the perfect representation of the eager student—and she let out a soft laugh; it was odd to see someone as keen as she about learning. She wondered if she ever looked half as attractive as he did right at that moment, and immediately knew the answer. She hadn't ever bothered to look decent throughout school, not caring if others found her hair to be a disaster or her clothes wrinkled. It seemed as though Tom had a reputation to upkeep, however, and to be seen as unkempt would be seriously out of character.

"How familiar are you with nonverbal and wandless magic?"

"I've dabbled a time or two."

"Well, seeing as you are at least somewhat knowledgeable on the subject, do you care to show me what you can do?"

He nodded and stood, moving his school-bag to the ground before closing his eyes momentarily. It wasn't long before a small flame sprung from his palm, creating a fire on the table before him. He raised his hand and the fire grew with it, taller and taller until she was certain they wouldn't be able to contain it; he glanced over at her, studying her expression briefly before he abruptly halted the fire's ascent and casted it away with one wave of his hand, leaving behind no sign that a fire had ever been.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she had to stop herself from hanging her mouth open like one of those obscene muggle dolls.

"I'd say that's a bit more than dabbling, Tom." She gazed in awe at him before she could stop herself; it wasn't like he summoned Merlin himself or anything of the like, but she hadn't known any self-proclaimed beginner to be capable of what he just did.

Tom smiled smugly and bowed deeply to her in an extravagant gesture, modeling down to the twirling of his hand a subject bowing in respect to his queen; the whole thing was such a farce she couldn't keep herself from snorting.

"I s'ppose I ought to keep my compliments to myself, lest your head grow any larger and you can't fit out the door." She grumbled, more to herself than to him.

Tom barked out a loud laugh that appeared to be so filled with joy that she had to join in despite her continued annoyance with him.

"I don't think I'm _that_ bad; I'm just very self-assured." He straightened his robes and smiled brilliantly—Hermione almost expected a soft _ping_ to sound out, an exaggeration of how bright his teeth were.

"I hesitate to say this in the fear that it'll only encourage your arrogance more, but that bit of magic was impressive. How long have you been practicing?"

"About a year," He replied quickly, shrugging his shoulders as though that particular magic was no great task.

She doubted that _greatly_ —no matter how brilliant a person is, it takes time to master something so difficult. It had taken her at least two years, if not three, and the constant help of her colleagues; hell, she still found herself learning about it as the days passed.

"Are you sure about that?" She responded, setting her jaw and crossing her arms in front of her. She wasn't fond of being lied to, especially over a subject as menial as this. What could he possibly have to hide about practicing magic?

"I think it goes without saying, Hermione—unless you've something to say to me?" His tone was silvery and light, but she could feel the dangerous undertones; it was a stark contrast to his previous playful mood, his voice now a shallow mockery of what it had been.

She merely glared at him, her chin raised stubbornly. He returned the sentiment.

Hermione wasn't sure when their silent argument would end, but she could guarantee that she wouldn't be the first to break, no matter how childish—

"Hey, 'Mione, hope you didn't come back to your classroom to brood about Peeves—"

Hermione and Tom's staredown was interrupted by a brief chuckle, cut short upon the intruder realizing that the person he sought out was not alone.

"Er—Sorry—Am I interrupting something? I couldn't find you in your chambers and figured you were working in here—"

Hermione quickly snapped out of her trance, her frizzy hair splaying wildly as she turned to greet her best friend with a too-bright smile.

"No reason to fret, Harry. I've started tutoring Tom after dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I'd completely forgotten." Harry looked down at the floor, shuffling his feet awkwardly and running his hand through his hair.

Tom snorted quietly at his other professor and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

Hermione glowered at him, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She wished desperately that he could read her thoughts at that moment; if he could, he'd be very aware of just how many curses she knew and who she'd like to aim them at.

"It's okay, Harry, honestly." She told Harry reassuringly, unfisting her hands to touch his arm and gently regain his attention. "Tom and I were just finishing up, actually—weren't we, Tom?"

Tom stared at her blankly for a moment before responding.

"Absolutely. If I've any further questions, I'll bring them up during our next meeting." His tone returned to the polite baritone it almost always was, but she knew better—he was telling her that their conversation most certainly was not over.

"Brilliant." She struggled to keep her smile from transforming into a grimace as she watched him gather his bag and nod to both his professors before heading out the door. She had to restrain herself from sighing in relief; she was way too happy to see her student leave.

Harry readjusted his glasses absentmindedly and looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Why do I have the feeling I interrupted something much more intense than you're leading on?"

Hermione threw her head back and laughed, relief washing over her from the familiarity of Harry's questioning nature. _This_ was something she was comfortable with.

"Oh, Harry," she shook her head and looped her arm through his, dragging him out of her classroom. "I've missed you."

She delved animatedly into conversation with Harry, hoping in vain that she would be able to forget the red glint that sparked to life in Tom's eyes, not unlike the fire he had created with only his hands.

* * *

 **Sooooo there's that chapter! Next chapter will skip a few weeks ahead; first Hogsmeade trip and some much needed drama between.. Well, pretty much everyone. If you're at all interested in seeing any scenes through Tom's POV, leave me a review/comment or message me on Tumblr about what part you'd like to see and I'll get a companion piece going. Tumblr is marauderswagger. Thank you so, so much for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay, I think you've mastered the destructive portion of our lessons," Hermione coughed out, spluttering from the bits of stone and dust lingering in the air. She waved her hand in front of her face to attempt to clear her vision and airways and took note of Tom rolling his eyes at her expense.

"You've quite the flare for dramatics, Professor," Tom drolled. He waved his hand in one fluid motion and the stone wall separating her classroom from another began to quickly reassemble itself, every bit and piece returning to its rightful position. In a matter of seconds, the crumbled wall had returned to its original state, solid and sturdy as it was before. Nobody would be the wiser of Tom having destroyed it only moments before without the slightest hint of strain.

Hermione raised her eyebrows—a motion she found herself repeating over the past month more often than she'd like to admit—at the ease in which he brought to life any thought or desire that crossed his mind.

Tom was brilliant, to say the least, and that wasn't something she had ever used to describe another human being outside of herself. While it may come off as arrogant to others, it was simply the truth; most didn't have the mental capacity to keep up with her.

But Tom?

Tom mastered everything she could think to challenge him with. It had taken her _weeks_ to be able to reassemble anything she had destroyed of larger scale, and it had only taken him days.

It pissed her off, honestly, how effortlessly ideas came to fruition for him. The only person who had ever come close to reaching her level of academia in school was Draco Malfoy, and he was never someone she had even slightly worried about. Even with the five years she had on Tom, his intelligence rivalled so closely to hers, and it made her nervous. Her entire identity was centered around being the most intelligent person in the room at all times, and she wasn't entirely certain who she was outside of that persona.

It felt like the gods were playing a cruel joke on her, placing someone as smart as Tom in her class to constantly draw attention to her shortcomings.

And the gods were undoubtedly cruel when they created Tom Riddle.

They had blessed him with every positive attribute she could imagine. He was bloody gorgeous—there was no point in trying to deny it at this point, it was simply the truth—and she doubted she had ever met another man as well designed as he. Every motion he made, every breath he took, seemed to be calculated in a way to be appealing. The way his broad chest rose and fell when he sighed, the way he relaxed into a chair like it was the most comfortable seat in the world,. He made it feel like it was a privilege to watch him existing so gracefully. He seemed to fit no matter what scenario he was placed in, and that was something that she would kill for.

It would only be fair for him to be capable of adapting to his surroundings and nothing more—that sure, he was beautiful and well-liked, and that was where it ended.

Unfortunately, life never seemed to be fair for Hermione.

His mind was sharp and clever, and that combined with his overwhelming amount of positive attributes made a deadly combination.

She felt too many times that he had used his charisma and persuasive skills to get his way. She had turned corners in the expansive corridors of the castle and stumbled upon him whispering amongst his housemates. They always appeared to be clinging to every word he said, drinking in his kind expressions and pleased smiles.

Whenever he noticed her, his dark eyes would dart to hers, and she could swear that his mouth would curve into a smirk, cruel and unfitting on such an angelic face. It felt wrong to see him look like that—like someone had taken a beautiful painting and purposefully marred the features, turning art into horror.

She had tried to convince herself time and time again that she was exaggerating. She was simply projecting her fears onto this innocent boy, her mind trying to compensate and find some flaw in him to make him seem real. Her imagination was in overtime, searching for some form of danger to protect herself from, compensating for the lack of adventure that was plaguing her dreams. She had been constantly on edge for years and without a scenario to fear, she was creating one.

But she still couldn't control the way interacting with him felt taboo. She couldn't shake the feeling that the more she tutored him, the more entangled she became in the mystery that was Tom Riddle.

Yes, the gods were certainly cruel, and she wished she could repent for whatever horrible act she committed that caused them to punish her so.

"Something on your mind, Professor?" Tom asked, strolling towards where she was sitting on top of her desk with her ankles crossed, her legs swinging absentmindedly. "You've been zoning out an awful lot. Is my unprecedented success at wandless magic starting to bore you?" His mouth formed a half-smile, both arrogant and cheeky to fit his mood.

Hermione coughed out a startled laugh and shook her head, her riotous curls following the movement haphazardly. "Wandless magic will _never_ bore me. However, tutoring you has lead me to question your capabilities of doing something that doesn't involve decimating anything you'd like."

He sighed dramatically, appearing to be disgruntled and very put out by her observation.

"If it's really something that's bothering you.."

She watched as he focused on a quill laying beside her that began rapidly changing, its features becoming disfigured and morphing into a long, green object. She blinked, leaning closer to make out what the object was—

"Oh, bloody _fuck_ —" She leapt down from her desk, quickly uncrossing her ankles and stumbling away from the area, scrambling to regain steady footing to keep her face from meeting the cold stone floor beneath her.

Tom had transfigured the quill into a snake. Something that she should have foreseen by him being the bloody Slytherin Head Boy, but overlooked due to the extremely unlikely probability of him mastering that level of transfiguration wordlessly.

His lips hadn't even twitched or tried to form the words necessary for the spell; he simply looked steadily at the quill and turned it into a bloody _snake._

"Well, that's not the reaction I was expecting," Tom said innocently despite barely concealing his laughter, mirth dancing in his eyes at her expense. "I'm terribly sorry, Professor. I was unaware of your fear of snakes." He chuckled deeply, seeming to laugh at a private joke she wasn't included in.

Her face immediately caught fire and she was certain that even Merlin himself could see her embarrassment. She straightened her robes in an attempt to gather any dignity she had remaining and let out a steady breath, determined to pretend like she didn't just swear loudly in front of a student and almost break her neck scrambling away from a small snake.

"It's not everyday a student decides to conjure up a snake to show their capacity to do something other than harm." She sniffed, lifting her chin to hopefully disguise her blush.

"I suppose that's fair," Tom said thoughtfully, stroking the snake with his index finger. "But snakes are nothing to be afraid of. They're usually quite kind and keep to themselves. They're only dangerous if you irritate them."

"As lovely as it is to have that knowledge, I think I've seen enough of it."

Not trusting herself to cast it away properly without a wand, she pointed hers at the snake and willed it back into a quill, loosing a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. She pocketed her wand in her robe and found Tom staring at her, cocking his head to the side like a confused dog.

"Why were you unable to perform the spell wandlessly?"

"It's not that I was _unable_ , it's that I felt it would be better completed with a wand. If I'm not comfortable with a spell, especially if I'm nervous, I'd rather get it done correctly with a wand than half-arsed without one."

"Are you saying I make you nervous?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione stared at him incredulously. Surely she heard him incorrectly, there was no way he would ask such a straightforward question—

"Do I make you nervous, Hermione?" He pushed off from where he was leaning on her desk and approached where she was standing, long legs closing the distance in no time. He stopped mere centimeters away, eyes burning with an emotion that she couldn't quite grasp.

"I—You—What? Of course not." She blurted quickly, trying desperately to ignore the way her heart raced from both his blunt questioning and closeness. "I'm your Professor, Tom. I'm impressed by your skills, but that's where it ends. What made me nervous was that bloody snake you decided to transfigure—"

He examined her face, eyebrows furrowing as though he couldn't seem to find what he was looking for. His tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips, lighting something inside her abdomen on fire.

"Right."

"Besides, it's pretty overwhelming to think about how we're the shining examples of muggleborns being capable of powerful magic—"

He jerked away from her as if shocked, his face morphing into something feral.

"It seems you're mistaken, _Professor."_ Tom bit out, the words barely heard through gritted teeth. "I come from a very respected wizarding family. I'm not a mudb— _muggleborn._ " He corrected himself before completely saying the slur, but she still felt the sting of it.

She flinched visibly, shocked by the shift in his mood and the atmosphere in her classroom. It felt like the air had suddenly become solid, weighing down on her chest and preventing her lungs from working properly.

Hermione reapproached the safety of her desk and crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

"Riddle isn't a common wizarding name."

"My _muggle father_ happened to impregnate a woman from a very noble bloodline." He sneered, spitting the words as though they were poisonous and certain to infect his bloodstream if he kept them in a moment longer.

"Congratulations on your blood status, then. It's a shame you're unable to accept both halves of your existence."

His eyes were endless pits of darkness as his stare bore into her, shadows casting onto his face that eliminated the polite school-boy persona that he wore so well.

"My existence consists wholly of powerful magic. There's nothing muggle about me."

"Except your name." She corrected, feeling her irritation flow throughout her body like lava, warming her to her core. She set her jaw stubbornly, unwavering on her stance of the matter.

"Names can be changed." He said, reminding her of a petulant child.

"You never struck me as the type to be so concerned about one's blood purity. It's surprising to see someone as intelligent as you make such a foolish decision based on biases originating from inbred lunatics."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a shaky breath. She could visibly notice the restraint he was attempting to put on himself, his muscles constricted and noticeable underneath his white button up.

"Professor, I don't have a problem with _you_ being muggleborn—"

"Oh, thank _Merlin_ , you're alright with my blood being _dirty_."

"—I have a problem with others thinking of me as _less than_. Like I'm not one of the best wizards in history merely because of my blood status. If getting recognition for my strengths means acting like mudbloods are the scum of the earth, it's the price I pay. Being half-blood doesn't cut it. I have to act as though I have the purest of blood, like my fucking muggle father's dirty blood doesn't run through my veins—"

"It seems like you have it all sorted out, then."

"—What?" He stopped his rambling and looked up to see Hermione gathering up the parchment on her desk, refusing to even spare him a glance.

"If you think that muggleborns—sorry, _mudbloods_ —" she corrected spitefully, venomous on her tongue, "aren't worth your time, then we're done here. You'd do well to find a pureblood to teach you what you'd like to know. We wouldn't want to taint your learning experience by you gaining knowledge from someone worth less than you."

"Hermione, that isn't what I meant—"

She looked up, face cold and expressionless, and held up her hand to silence him.

"It's Professor Granger, Riddle. And our time here is over. Consider our lessons suspended indefinitely. I'll inform the Headmaster in the morning."

Tom approached her desk quickly, several emotions crossing his face: anger, disbelief, _panic._

She restrained herself from flinching and held steady, unwilling to negotiate on the matter.

"Professor, this wasn't my intention at all. You're brilliant. I've been learning a great deal from you, I've _never_ thought of you as anything less than capable. You don't understand—"

Hermione sighed heavily. She couldn't help but be extremely disappointed by the outcome of the lesson; never in a million years did she think it possible for Tom to be so naive when it came to him being so obviously _wrong._

"Please, Professor. You must reconsider."

"We'll discuss this later. For now my decision stands, but I won't go to Dumbledore until we take time to speak again. I'd like for you to really reevaluate your decisions, Tom," she said earnestly, willing him to listen to her about this if nothing else, "don't let others shape your opinions of the world—experience things, then form opinions for _yourself."_

"Of course, Professor. I'll take your suggestion into consideration." He stood rigidly, jaw ticking in annoyance. She assumed her pointing out his mistakes was a sore spot for him as well as it was for her.

"You can leave now. Return to your dormitory."

He turned on his heel and grabbed his bag, not looking back at her once as he exited her classroom.

She slammed her hand down on her desk the moment he was out of hearing range. She knew it was childish and an overreaction at best, but she was so exasperated she didn't have it in her to reason with herself.

Over the past month she had been under the impression that she had built a rapport with Tom. She truly felt like she found a kindred soul in him; they both were misunderstood for their brilliance, both with tendencies to question everything and crave answers. They had fallen into a steady rhythm together—he had even started staying after class to help her with grading or simply to keep her company, under the guise of having important questions that needed to be answered immediately. They would always find something to argue about, but she took comfort in it; their arguments were always intellectually fueled—well, for the most part. Some of it was caused by him purposefully picking at something he knew would infuriate her, causing them to get in a heated debate over something as trivial as Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration (he would insist there was a way to work around the law, rightfully incensing Hermione. It was a _law_. There was no work-around.)

She knew he would cause arguments on purpose to see her react, but it never bothered her—she rather enjoyed it, albeit shamefully. She enjoyed the back and forth banter the two shared and liked having someone to talk to that could understand any topic she was interested in.

While her attraction to him was inappropriate—and something she found herself battling on a daily basis—she was entirely comfortable with being friends with him. It was much more acceptable to be friendly with students than to be intimate, and it was something that didn't irritate her moral compass horribly.

She had been foolish. How could she trust and confide in someone who despised her for her very existence?

Her stomach knotted uncomfortably and dread settled into her like she was its home.

She desperately hoped he would realize that his biases were not his own; that he would see how woefully wrong he was and come to his senses.

But not for her sake. For his.

She didn't want him to live a life that was restricted so horribly by racism and bias that an ugly shadow would cloud his view of the world. He was incredibly intelligent and could do wonderous things with the power and knowledge he held—he was only restricting himself by judging people by their blood status rather than their capabilities.

Despite everything that happened and the worry that riddled her mind, she still found herself thinking of the pleased look that flashed across his face momentarily when he thought he made her nervous—an image that remained as she drifted to sleep.

* * *

"Hullo, 'Mione," Harry greeted the next day during lunch. "I thought you'd look a bit better after you had some time to wake up, but you still look like shit."

"Sometimes I have to ask myself if your friendship is really worth the restraint necessary to keep myself from murdering you."

"Depends on the day, I s'ppose." He grinned brightly at her, green eyes twinkling with joy.

Now that he was a professor, he was so carefree about everything; it was rare to see him angst-ridden as he so often was growing up. It was such a pleasant change for him, and she was thrilled that he had finally found something that truly brought him happiness.

But shit, did he always have to be so damn _chipper_?

"The offer still stands, y'know," Harry said through a mouth full of biscuits, scattering little bits of crumbs in the air. "You're always welcome to come to my class and duel me. It'll be educational! And you can get out some of that pent up frustration that's been making you so—"

He didn't finish his sentence, acknowledging the murderous glint in Hermione's eyes.

"Honestly, Harry, you'd think you'd have learned to not speak with your mouth full," she grumbled, pretending to wipe crumbs off her face with a disgusted grimace. "You know I'm not as good at dueling as you are, and I'm not very fond of being made a fool in front of an audience. I don't think that will make me feel better."

"C'mon, 'Mione! I bet you've only gotten better with your time in Egypt and I need to see if you've gained the knowledge to best me."

"As wonderful as that sounds, you've had just as much time to practise your skills as well. I have a reputation to uphold! I can't be seen doing poorly at something." She adjusted her collar in an exaggerated gesture and held her head high, looking down her nose at Harry.

"Ah, yes, of course," he snorted, his eyes looking to the ceiling. "your wonderful reputation as a woman fond of exploratory _relations_. We wouldn't want to risk tarnishing that—"

"Harry, I will murder you where you sit—"

"—And even if you don't best me, it'll still get your mind off of whatever's been bothering you." He added softly, his brows drawing together in concern. He reached out to rest his hand upon hers, his dark brown skin a nice contrast against her golden tones. "I know you haven't been keen on discussing things since you've returned, but I'm still here for you, 'Mione."

"I know, Harry," she said with a gentle smile, voice low and reassuring. "But it's just something annoying in passing. I'll work my way through it and be back to normal in no time."

"Alright. If it continues to bother you, come to me. I'll find a way to help, even if it's just me sitting and listening to some theory of yours repeated in different ways for hours."

Hermione snorted, pulling her hand from underneath his and patting his shoulder.

"What a sacrifice to make for mankind, Harry. I'm surprised you haven't been officially labeled a saint."

"They're working on it. Quite a lot of paperwork required for that—very official business, y'know." He shoveled the remainder of his lunch in his face and Hermione fought back a cringe at the mess he was making; _this_ was what the students were attracted to? "I still insist you indulge me in a duel. It'll be fun, I promise."

"If you aren't planning on dropping the subject, I suppose I'll agree. But don't expect much out of me."

"Perfect!" Harry grinned brightly at her, mischief sparking in his eyes. "The duel shall be held during your free period after lunch."

"That's next period, you prat—"

"Like I said: perfect. The element of surprise." He wiggled his dark brows at her suggestively.

"You're lucky I'm unwilling to cast the cruciatus," She mumbled, stabbing at her potatoes violently with her fork.

"Indeed I am. I imagine you'd've cast it on me a long time ago."

"Alright, class, I've another surprise for you!" Harry said excitedly to his seventh year students. A collective groan resounded throughout the classroom and Hermione had to convert her laughter into a cough, turning her head to prevent Harry from seeing the mirth on her face.

Harry quickly shot her a dirty look before continuing.

"This is actually a _pleasant_ surprise, as you won't have to do anything but observe. Honestly, my lessons aren't that bad—" He whined, all but pouting at the lack of enthusiasm from his class.

Hermione cleared her throat, attempting to keep Harry from going off on a tangent, and waved her hand for him to continue with the lesson.

"—Alright, fine," Harry grumbled. "As you can probably tell from the desks being cleared and the lack of seating; today Professor Granger and I will give you a close-up experience of a wizard's duel."

A dark hand shot in the air and Harry nodded to his student in acknowledgment.

"Yes, Zabini?"

"No offense, Professor Potter, but we've witnessed wizards duels before. It's not really a new topic." Zabini said flatly, shrugging his narrow shoulders.

"Yes, but you've never been permitted to see a duel _without_ magical restrictions." He was almost vibrating with energy, pacing about the front of the room. "Professor Granger and I will be allowed to cast any spell we see fit, including hexes and curses."

Hermione noticed most students begin to perk up with interest from the declaration, bored eyes becoming bright with curiosity. She wanted to cringe. She worked with hexes and curses and understood them completely, but she wasn't one to look forward to having them thrown at her by someone incredibly adept at doing so.

Why did she let Harry talk her into this ridiculous plan again?

Oh, _right._ To help get her mind off of the thing bothering her.

And the 'thing' in particular was standing in a crowd of students, eyes boring into her so resolutely that she was surprised there wasn't a hole burned through her head, or that her hair hadn't caught fire from its intensity. He was trying desperately to get her to return his eye contact, but she stubbornly—and childishly, if she was being honest with herself—looked anywhere but in his direction.

She had to keep herself from smacking her palm to her forehead over how stupid she was. She _knew_ he was in this class, knew that he would be watching the entire time Harry handed her arse to her on a silver platter.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Professor Granger, do you have anything to add before our duel commences?"

Hermione regained her focus and swallowed hard, trying to prepare herself mentally for the inevitable bruising she would endure from her unfortunate decision. Regardless of how well-versed Harry was at the subject, she wouldn't do anything but her best; it wasn't in her blood to accept defeat so easily.

"No, I imagine you've covered it. Let's get this over with." She cast a quick sticking spell to form her hair in a knot on her head, hopefully keeping the frizzy mess from interfering with the duel.

Harry chuckled at her disgruntled response but did not argue. He went to his side of the classroom as she followed suit, standing on the opposite side.

They both stood straight and tall, wands at their sides, chins raised in confidence—confidence that Hermione didn't entirely feel, but attempted to personify regardless. They bowed deeply to each other before raising their wands in front of them, aimed at the other.

Remembering a duel from their second year, Hermione called out on a whim:

"Scared, Potter?"

"You wish." He winked, undoubtedly recalling the duel between himself and Draco Malfoy.

They both stared awkwardly at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move; an entire minute passed before Harry sent a simple stunning spell towards her legs.

She sidestepped it lazily, seemingly breaking the spell on the two friends with a laugh.

Hermione began rapid-firing curses at Harry as quickly as she could think of them, waving her wand but deciding to remain non-verbal, hoping it would confound him at some point and cause him to lose his focus.

 _Stupefy. Locomotor Mortis. Tarantallegra._

She decided to keep with simple spells at first; she wanted to lull him into a sense of comfort that she would be unwilling to send more dangerous spells at him, use their close friendship against him.

Harry slashed his wand through the air, effectively blocking all of her mediocre attempts with simple defensive spells.

"Is that really the best you can do, 'Mione?" He taunted, laughter tainting his words as he began firing curses back at her.

He seemed to choose the opposing route to her methods.

A flurry of different coloured lights began racing towards her and she threw up her shield charm, putting as much strength into as she could.

The first few spells were swallowed by her shield, but the fourth disintegrated it; she had to lunge haphazardly out of the way, throwing herself on the floor to avoid it. Her knees hit the ground painfully and sent shockwaves down to her feet.

The spell had managed to catch the end of her robes, singing them, and her eyes grew wide at the sight.

If he was playing to win so early, then she would, too.

She cast _bombarda_ at the wall behind him and watched as he ran quickly to avoid the shattering pieces of stone tumbling down towards him; she used his distraction to catch him mid-run with a leg-locking jinx, leading him to fall face-first onto the floor.

"No, I think I can do a bit better, really," Hermione said airily, standing up and brushing dust off her robes.

Harry removed the curse from himself and went to stand, opening his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a startled huff as he hung upside down from his feet, his body dangling in the air.

His robes fell towards his head, revealing a white undershirt tucked into slacks.

She laughed at him, thinking he would be unable to see her, but the curse sent spiralling towards her said otherwise.

It hit her square in the chest, sending her flying back into the opposing wall; she could've sworn she felt her brain shake from the force, scrambling her thoughts and making her nose run.

She brought a hand to her nose to wipe away the embarrassing evidence, but as she pulled back, it was dripping with blood.

Brilliant.

"Oh shit! Hermione, are you alright?" Harry called out, evidently having freed himself from the _levicorpus_ she had cast on him, scrambling to get to her.

"I'm fine," she groaned, leaning forward on her hands and scraped knees and pushing with all her might to arrange herself into some semblance of a standing position.

Using what little focus she had, she cast a burning hex for good measure, hitting him in the arm and setting his outer robe on fire.

Harry swore and quickly put it out, but a considerable hole remained along with a pink blotch of burned flesh.

They both looked at each other and laughed wearily, realizing how ridiculously childish the whole duel must have appeared to his class. Hermione didn't figure they expected the lesson to consist entirely of curses learned in the lower years of school, but she supposed it was realistic.

"Are you alright?"

She doubled over, willing the room to stop spinning and her breathing to steady.

"I think I'll survive. Who won?" She asked, peeking through her eyelashes at him.

"We'll call it a tie," Harry replied in disbelief, shaking his head and running his hand through his unkempt hair.

"Brilliant."

"Well, that calls the end of class," Harry said, turning to address his students. "Gather any questions you have for tomorrow's lesson, we'll discuss it then. I'm going to run Professor Granger to the infirmary before her next class."

"Harry, that's completely unnecessary," Hermione griped, annoyed by the way the students were staring at her as though she were an animal on display. "I'll just go rest in my classroom until my next lesson. No need for theatrics."

"Hermione, don't be ridiculous—"

"I'll escort her, Professor Potter." An all too familiar voice rang out, making her blood freeze in her veins.

 _Please don't be who I think it is. Please don't be who I think it is._

If she repeated it often enough, maybe the gods would hear her plea and pull her from the unfortunate encounter she was about to endure.

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Riddle."

She cursed Harry internally for sacrificing her like that when she was entirely unprepared to speak with Tom; it hadn't even been a full day, she needed more time to gather her thoughts—

"It's no problem at all. I'll ensure she returns to her classroom safely," his deep baritone was dripping with concern, a sound far too pleasing to her ears. She had to force herself to not look at his face, not acknowledge the expression that she was certain would be perfectly etched upon it.

"Professor Granger?" Tom approached her now, gently cupping her elbow in his hand. "Are you alright to walk or do you need me to carry you?"

"I'll be just fine walking, thanks," she replied politely, avoiding his gaze.

She didn't have to look into his eyes to know what she would find there—amusement over the threat that only she had picked up on—really, in what world would she allow him to carry her?— and a steady coldness that had been growing since her blatant refusal to acknowledge him since her abrupt dismissal the day before.

"I insist you at least hold onto my arm, Professor," Tom urged kindly, forcing her hand in front of Harry.

She wrapped her arm around his begrudgingly and allowed him to lead her out of the classroom, past the overzealous stares of her students and into the empty corridor.

Hermione was woefully unprepared for the walk back to her classroom.

* * *

 **A/N: Greetings, friends. I promise I haven't forgotten this story and I've been working on getting updates as quickly as possible (you know how it is around the holidays). I've postponed Hogsmeade until next chapter for some additional detail and character interactions, so I hope you don't mind.**

 **Please let me know what you think! If you have any questions about anything, you can find me on tumblr at marauderswagger. I'll answer all questions to the best of my abilities.**

 **Until the next chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter is dedicated to my loves: gigi-mari for always being available to give me opinions, quitethesardonic for always being on the same wavelength, and seanymphe for being the love of my life.**

* * *

Hermione counted the stones of the floor as they crossed them, determined to keep her attention on anything but the man whose arm she currently held on to.

The sounds of their steps echoed through her mind, painfully demanding to be acknowledged over the heavy silence that shrouded the pair. Each step like a steady swing of a hammer, pounding and pounding, growing louder with each footfall.

She could feel his stare each time he glanced down towards her, feel him searching for any sign of emotion or reaction to his presence—she wouldn't show him _anything_ , wouldn't allow him to see her affected by him in the slightest.

She would make it back to her classroom, take a potion for her throbbing headache, and hopefully catch at least a little sleep before her next class started.

She would dismiss him the moment they arrived.

She continued telling herself that as they boarded the staircase, as they arrived on her floor—and as Tom held firm when she began to step off, preventing her from making the transition. He grabbed onto her forearm, holding her in place, and she had stayed; she was too shocked to act otherwise.

She wasn't expecting him to blatantly refuse to take her to her classroom.

She knew if he accosted her there, she could resign to her chambers, effectively barring him from interacting with her until she was ready.

But he probably knew that, too.

"And just where exactly do you think we're going?" She snapped, finally glancing upwards to send him a sharp glare. She dug her nails into his arm in warning, but immediately thought better.

He was her student.

A student that seemed to have drowned any ounce of common sense he had with his own arrogance and assumptions, but her student nonetheless.

"Somewhere to talk, of course."

His voice was pleasant, amiable; a tone you'd expect to hear when having a polite conversation over breakfast, just two friends catching up after years apart.

His jaw, however, told a different story: set quite stubbornly, it expressed the decision wasn't up for discussion—at least not in his mind.

His body was tense, expecting a fight from her, and it appeared he thought her to be a worthy adversary; she felt the muscles in his arm remain taut even after successfully halting her movements, like she was a feral animal that would strike at any moment and he needed to be aptly prepared.

She couldn't deny that cursing him had crossed her mind the moment he stopped her, but she knew she wouldn't be able to put up much of fight. Her head ached and her body was tender, leaving her bereft of the agility or strength to properly maim him the way she wanted to.

Oh, and he was her student.

Something she had to remind herself of over and over, like a mantra constantly running through her mind, telling her she couldn't rightfully curse him into the next century.

"And what makes you think it's appropriate to commandeer your professor?" She questioned, disguising the acid she felt on her tongue with a sickly sweet tone.

If anything, this appeared to alarm him more—the first intelligent thing he acted upon that day—and his eyebrows knit together in worry, but his posture remained the same.

Casual. Comfortable.

It infuriated her all the more.

"I know it's appropriate because I wouldn't be able to speak with you otherwise."

He guided her off the stairs at the second floor and approached a classroom that had been abandoned for as long as she could remember. Why had he brought her here? Her stomach clenched in panic but she willed it to hold off from crippling her.

Tom was just a student. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't be _capable_ of hurting her.

Right?

After all the lessons she had gone through with him, she knew that her thoughts were merely wishful thinking; he had excelled at any test she could come up with for him, especially in regards to anything in the realm of destruction. She hadn't had to show him how to do anything more than once, and had even taught her a few things (mainly with conjuring fire—how was he so proficient at working with fire? It was as though the flames were always in the corner of his mind, merely waiting anxiously for the moment their master would call them forth once more. It was disturbing how she found that to be more interesting than frightening).

So was he truly capable of hurting her? Absolutely. And that terrified her.

"Will you stop acting like I'm going to murder you and just come in the room with me?" He sighed impatiently, holding the door open for her to enter. She peeked inside but couldn't make out anything, the room too dark for her eyes to adjust in time.

Hesitating too long for Tom's taste, he pulled her inside with a disgruntled noise, shutting the door behind them.

The room suddenly glowed with light and she noticed he hadn't used his wand to do so;

she had to fight the portion of her brain that wanted to nod encouragingly at his progress, the part that was professor impressed by student—she didn't want to further motivate his ideology that being powerful made any decision he acted upon okay.

She took advantage of the light to allow her eyes to search the dusty room, taking in random books splayed out across tables, balled up parchment in different areas, and a few old cauldrons set up.

"What is all this stuff doing here? There hasn't been a course held here in ages."

Tom shrugged, leading her to sit down in a chair while he remained standing.

"I like to have space to work freely."

She nodded in agreement. It made absolute sense to her; the amount of times she had been disturbed in the Gryffindor common room by voices and laughter always annoyed her. The library was never open as late as she would've liked, Madam Pince having chased her out far too many times despite her begging to stay for even a moment longer, vehemently protesting returning to her dormitory and being forced to listen Lavender gush about Divination.

She was upset that she didn't think to do this as well. How easy it would've been for her to claim a classroom of her own and hide herself away from the real world and the mocking commentary regarding her inquisitive nature.

"Now that you've seen that this isn't my own personal room for torture, may I please look at your head?" Tom's voice rang out, poorly concealing his annoyance with her.

"Why do you need to look at my head?" Hermione touched the back of her head self-consciously and pulled back quickly, wincing in pain from the shock her touch sent through her skull.

He looked at her pointedly but said nothing else.

"I dunno if you're more qualified to look over it than Pomfrey, at this rate I might as well go to the infirmary—" She continued to protest, thinking of any excuse to keep him from using her injury to incapacitate her somehow. Even with his insistence to check on her well-being, she still couldn't erase the knowledge of his blood prejudice; she didn't want to be on the receiving end of some wild attempt to harm muggleborns, as outrageous as the idea was (Everyone had seen her leave with Tom—what could he possibly do to her that wouldn't be tracked back to him?)

He rolled his eyes and strode towards her anyway, undoing the sticking charm she had placed on her curls and gently holding up strands of her hair to inspect her scalp for wounds.

They had fallen into a friendly routine together before his disdain for muggleborns arose; so much so that nothing felt out of place as he approached despite her protests, acting upon his thoughts of what was the best action to take as always. She couldn't lie to herself and pretend that she hadn't already begun to miss how straightforward and to the point he was, having thought she would spend a lot more time away from him than simply a day.

She found herself growing annoyed over her sudden proclivity for dramatics, but that faded quickly when she drew her attention back to Tom.

As inappropriate as it was to be with him here, it was all the more inappropriate to so thoroughly enjoy his large hands sorting through her hair.

Hermione really tried to keep her body prepared to run at any sign of trouble, but the moment his fingers began rifling through her hair, her bones dissolved out of her body, leaving her helplessly in his care.

She could've moaned from the feeling of his soft touch and the sensation that ran down her spine. She had always loved to have her hair played with but was often too ashamed of its disheveled state to allow anyone to do so; it was no surprise to her that she had to fight back a purr from sounding through her chest—until Tom managed to find a particularly sore spot.

"Ow, bloody hell—" She flinched, jerking her head forward and away from him before turning to glare up at him.

Tom stared back at her with stormy eyes and a clenched jaw, breathing sharply through his nose.

"It isn't my fault it hurts." She said snappishly. "If you'd just let me leave and at least take a potion—"

"You're right," he cut her off mid-sentence, his voice halfway between a whisper and a snarl. His frigid tone caused a shiver to run up her spine and her body to flinch involuntarily. "It isn't your fault. It's Potter's fault for being so _goddamn careless_ and throwing you into a wall—"

" _Professor_ _Potter_ was simply performing in the duel as he should have! It was _my_ mistake when I didn't shield myself properly."

"Professor Potter," He replied through gritted teeth, "could have killed you if you would've hit your head just a little bit harder."

"And why does _any_ of this matter to you? I'm surprised you're willing to touch me! Wouldn't want to risk the chance of catching any disease a mudblood carries—"

"Do _not_ call yourself that." Tom seethed, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. "This has _nothing_ to do with blood other than yours being wrongfully spilled."

She choked out a laugh, unable to do anything else as she felt hysteria bubbling up inside her. Surely she was in another dimension where the boy that stood in front of her hadn't just revealed his approval of blood supremacy the day before.

"I must be hallucinating if you are genuinely delusional enough to believe that your opinion of muggleborns doesn't directly affect me."

"I have no issues with you being muggleborn, Hermione. I have issues with you almost being slaughtered in front of an entire class."

"You're so melodramatic, you know that?" She said, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation and turning away from him. "I was not almost slaughtered. I am fine. My head hurts—which this entire conversation is _not_ helping—but I am fine." She held her face in her hands, willing the day to be over; or even better, for the entire day to have been a dream, and she'd wake up and continue to ignore the insufferable man standing behind her, demanding things of her that he had no real claim to.

"Sit back up and I'll heal your head. We'll finish this conversation later tonight."

A promise, not an offer.

"Tom, I'm your professor, not the other way around. You've no need to take care of me. I'm perfectly capable of going to the infirmary or taking a potion." Despite her words, she sat up in her chair anyway, allowing his hands to search through her hair once more.

"I'm aware."

"Then why are you doing all of this? Why are you so adamantly scolding me for something that doesn't concern you?"

She was expecting him to describe how important their lessons were to him, how she believed in him when Dumbledore was so blatantly against him—something that had been brought up several times, and she was only just beginning to see— or even that he was simply fond of spending time with her.

What she wasn't expecting, of course, was the real response he gave:

"I don't know."

His tone was puzzling and rang true with honesty, having barely been muttered above a whisper that she wasn't entirely sure was even meant for her ears.

A warm feeling spread from the wound to the remainder of her head, removing the pain as it went.

"Well, for whatever reason," she said, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, "I appreciate you healing me. I could've done without the 'forcing me into an abandoned classroom against my will' thing, but still."

"Oh, yeah?" Tom chuckled deep in his chest, a husky sound that had warmth pooling in her abdomen. "Don't pretend that you didn't come here of your own free will, Hermione. You and I both know that if you truly didn't want to be here, you wouldn't be."

She swallowed hard, refusing to turn and look into his face. She already knew what she would see and she didn't know if she could handle the arrogant tilt of his mouth so soon after a head injury. She needed to separate herself from him, take time to sort out her thoughts after the whirlwind of emotions she experienced in such a short amount of time.

Her head was throbbing for a wholly new reason.

"You're right. Any other time—perhaps when I haven't smashed my head against a wall—I wouldn't have been so easy to corner. I've noted my mistakes and won't make them again." She stood from her chair, distantly recognizing the lack of side effects from his healing spell and wishing she were on better terms with him to discuss it, and began to head for the door.

"Hermione, wait—" Tom called from behind her, catching her by the crook of her elbow and spinning her around to face him. She almost collided with his chest from the force of his pull and she absentmindedly wondered if she would bruise.

"Tom, you're trying my patience," she growled, looking up to glare into his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day and jerking her arm out of his hand. His height always made her feel like a child attempting to scold an adult, hands on her hips and wagging a finger in his face. Although that used to be her go-to stance, she very luckily grew out of that stage of her life and had adapted herself to give the iciest of stares—Bill had once told her it felt like she was attempting to murder him where he stood the one time she had turned the look on him, and she had felt oddly smug from the sense of power it made her feel.

"Will you stop being so bloody _hostile?_ " Tom ground out, clenching and unclenching his fists as though he were imagining his fingers closing around her throat. "We are one in the same, Hermione—the faster you realize this, the better. As endearing as your tenacious attitude might be to others, it's time for you to _listen to me_ instead of plugging your ears at any sign of progress."

"Excuse me?" Hermione spluttered, completely baffled from his deranged speech. He had to be fucking _joking_ if he thought them to be similar outside of their academic achievements. "We're both smart—big fucking deal! That doesn't mean that we're destined to work together or be anything more than what we are now, which, unless I've been blissfully drugged this school year, _isn't much._ I am teaching you Arithmancy and wandless spells. That's _it."_

"You're mistaken." His voice dropped dangerously low, anger flashing in his eyes. She subconsciously took a step away from him. "After all of our lessons, all of the discussions we've had about your life and school, you _know_ I understand you better than anyone else. I know your fears, your worries, your dreams—and not just because we've talked in great length since you've started here, Hermione—but because they are _mine."_

She scrambled backwards as he began stalking forward, his long legs closing any distance she put between them in a matter of seconds. She felt the coldness of stone on her back and knew she had been cornered—both literally and figuratively—and she fought to keep herself from showing any outward signs of panic despite her heart desperately trying to escape her body, jumping into her throat and beating its way out.

Tom looked down into her face, mouth curling into a cruel caricature of a smile.

"We really are just alike, Hermione," He murmured, one hand placed just above her head to support his weight and the other brushing stray curls from her face to tuck them behind her ear. "I've heard enough about you being a muggleborn; despite our less-than-optimal blood statuses, we're very clearly two of the brightest to have ever walked these halls, let alone out in the world." He was so close she could feel his breath fan over her face, a combination of cinnamon and pumpkin juice clouding her senses.

"So because we're both brilliant, we're somehow tied to each other now? I wasn't aware that's how the world worked; you'd think they'd advertise that a bit more clearly."

Her sarcasm still forged on, damning her even further when Tom exhaled deeply through his nose, surely preparing to let her have it—

"I'm not the enemy," he said, shaking his head in disappointment, dark curls shifting with the movement. "I'm hoping you'll see that soon. I've no intention of harming you." He pushed off the wall, giving her the distance she had so desperately craved only seconds before; her body protested the loss of heat that accompanied his closeness, but she maintained to keep that to herself.

"The whole anti-muggleborn agenda is just the means to an end. It seems our heritage has only positively impacted our intelligence versus that of Purebloods." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged passively, resigning back into himself as though transforming from his true identity to a shell of who he actually was—forcing his opinions, personality, and hunger into a suitcase far too small for its contents. "If you don't believe that I wouldn't harm a muggleborn, visit the trophy room. I have a plaque there for services to the school—I'm the one who caught the psychopath that killed one a couple years back. Not really the actions of a mudblood killer, yeah?"

"What are you talking about? A muggleborn _died?"_

Hermione's eyes widened with horror. Hogwarts was the safest place she could possibly think of, especially having Dumbledore as the head of the school; she never imagined anyone ever being capable of sneaking something past him.

"Yes, it was quite tragic I wasn't able to stop the abomination sooner; Myrtle might still be alive had I figured it out only moments before." His voice filled with regret, he cast his eyes down to avoid her gaze. "The teachers won't give out much information on what actually happened with the Chamber of Secrets, but the only person capable of opening it is now in Azkaban. Professor Potter might have more information than a simple student such as myself."

His poor attempt at painting himself to be the humble student caused suspicion to ring through her head; there was something else about this chamber that Tom wasn't telling her, and she would have to figure it out for herself.

"Yes, well—" She cleared her throat, voice temporarily sounding hoarse, "I'll ask him about it." She kept her sentence short and to the point, not wanting to draw attention to her suspicions. It wouldn't do well to outright accuse him of anything without having the information to back it up, _especially_ when it came to Hogwarts' golden boy.

"Will you consider reinstating our private lessons? I'm not the monster I made myself appear to be the other day," he said earnestly. "There will be no further misunderstandings. I promise."

"I'll think about it," She smiled hesitantly. "We really must be going, class will be starting and I don't need Harry thinking I've gone off and died for refusing treatment."

She turned to leave for the second time, praying he wouldn't stop her and attempt to persuade her further.

He didn't.

* * *

 **A/N: so more drama! Yay! I'm excited for the next few chapters, so hopefully that'll fuel me to get them done a bit more quickly. I changed my URL on tumblr from marauderswagger to darklordriddle, so if you look for me, you'll find me there. Also you can find me on Ao3 under either pseud. Until next chapter, friends!**


	7. Chapter 7

" _I'm not the enemy," he said, shaking his head in disappointment, dark curls shifting with the movement. "I'm hoping you'll see that soon. I've no intention of harming you." He pushed off the wall, giving her the distance she had so desperately craved only seconds before._

 _She grabbed his arm before he could distance himself an appropriate amount, pulling him back to the position he was in prior- mere inches from her freckled face, his breath fanning over her and bringing thoughts of cinnamon tea and warmth._

 _"I know you wouldn't harm me, Tom," she replied gently, tone set to coax him back to the comfort he previously had with her, back before his outrageous prejudices came to surface. "You're just so..."_

 _Hermione chewed her lip anxiously and took notice of his dark eyes becoming encompassed by his pupils, his focus entirely on her subconscious reaction to his nearness and her uncertainty._

 _"I'm so..?" His volume matched hers as his sentence trailed off, his voice a deep baritone that made her heart race and abdomen catch fire._

 _"Honestly?" She asked, unsure if he wanted a real answer or one that appealed to him._

 _Frustrating. Maddening. Infuriatingly attractive._

 _"Infuriatingly attractive? That's a new one," he chuckled low as her eyebrows shot into her hairline, newly becoming aware that her thoughts were said aloud instead of kept safely inside her head where they belonged._

 _"Let's pretend I never said that-" her cheeks coloured crimson, her mind rushing into overtime to figure out how to repair the line she had danced over and broken entirely._

 _"Let's not."_

 _He moved closer and her eyes widened, taking in every aspect of his face that she could - his perfectly chiseled nose, his high cheekbones, the overall smoothness of his pale skin - before his lips descended upon hers, causing every fiber of her being to sing._

 _His lips were slightly chapped, the roughness of a delicious contrast to the softness of hers. Pressure hesitant at first, he tested her response to his forward movement, assumingly noticing how she instantly froze the moment their lips touched._

 _She melted into his touch, and as if her acceptance lit his blood on fire, he fisted his hands in her mess of curls, crushing his mouth to hers in a torturous but enticing lock as she maneuvered her legs up, up, up around his waist, returning his kisses fervently and desperately, having waited for this moment since the second she ran into him in that hallway over a month ago—_

" _Hermione," He groaned, rocking his hips forward into her core and sending her into a frenzy, her fingers digging into his scalp, bringing him as close to her as possible—he wasn't close enough, could never be close enough—_

" _Hermione." Tom said again, pulling as far away from her as she would allow—not very far, it would seem, as her body was still pressed to his and she couldn't for the life of her pry herself off of him, basking in the feeling of his hard body pressed against hers—_

" _Honestly, Hermione, wake up."_

 _His voice and face no longer belonged to him, now morphing into the features of her best friend and colleague; Tom's dark, curly hair turning shades darker and becoming more wild and unkempt, his dark obsidian eyes becoming brighter and mischievous, a light shade of emerald that shone the same as the gem they resembled._

"What the hell?" She jolted upright in her bed, almost managing to tumble out had it not been for Harry catching her before her body went sprawling.

"Did I interrupt something? A nice dream, perhaps?" Harry waggled his eyebrows, laughter shining from every angle of his face as she felt hers turn a deep crimson, her chest catching fire from the heat.

"No, you bloody well did _not—"_

"Either you were having a nice dream or you were having a _really_ interesting reaction to grading the student's papers in your dream. Either way, no judgment, but you should probably not be so easily excitable about the mundane."

"Go to hell, Harry," Hermione groaned, flipping herself over and planting her face firmly into her pillow, willing it to suffocate her and end the embarrassment that radiated from her body in waves. "Why are you always so damned chipper in the mornings?"

"Mornings? It's almost noon, Hermione," He clucked his tongue, chiding her. "And it's Hogsmeade day! Of all days for you to sleep in! You must've really hit your head hard if you're willingly missing out on fresh books from Tomes and Scrolls."

"Oh, I completely forgot!" She shot up excitedly once more and almost knocked Harry from his perch on the side of her bed, clinging to the crimson duvet to keep himself from going over. "I'll be up and out for lunch in a mo', just let me get dressed."

"There's the Hermione I know. Don't want you to be much later—I've a bit of a surprise for you once we get to the village."

Despite Harry's tone dipping slightly from his usual cheeriness at the announcement, she decided to forgo her questioning until the pair reached Hogsmeade, unwilling to delve into interrogation when the subject could so easily return to that of her dream. She would rather die at the hands of Salazar Slytherin three times over than have to have _that_ discussion with Harry.

The witch shoo'd him out of her chambers and began preparing for her trip to Hogsmeade, hoping it would be everything she remembered from five years ago.


	8. Chapter 8

"No way. No freaking way."

"How many times is she going to say that?"

"Until she's blue in the face, I reckon."

"Draco, please. She's freaking me out."

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes since Hermione found out about Harry's relationship with Draco.

Thirty minutes since she found out her best friend was in love with a white-haired weasel that she had punched the lights out of in her third year.

Thirty minutes since she could do anything but stare in disbelief, continually grasping bits of her already tangled hair, tugging as though the harder she pulled the easier it would be for her to search for Harry's sanity after choosing Draco fucking Malfoy over any other person on this godforsaken planet.

"You..and him.. and just.. how?!" She spluttered, flinging her hands up in confusion and almost knocking over her butterbeer, Harry deftly catching it before it could overflow onto her lap.

"We reconnected a few months ago and just clicked," Harry said sheepishly while simultaneously looking relieved that she had finally managed to speak outside of expletives and mumblings of disbelief. His face coloured a bright pink and his eyes kept darting over to the annoying—albeit handsome, she had to admit begrudgingly—aristocrat beside him and she couldn't ignore the dazzling smile Draco returned.

"I'd say I'm 90 percent less of a prat since leaving my family and exploring the outside world, Granger," Draco said, face settling into a serious expression. "I didn't realize how idiotic I was growing up—didn't know the amount my blood prejudice could harm others. I'm sorry for the things I said when we were growing up. I'm a different person now and I can say with all the honesty that my pride will let me muster that I definitely deserved that right hook of yours."

Hermione struggled to keep her mouth from hanging agape, unable to believe the words coming from Draco's mouth.

What planet did she live on where Draco Malfoy was apologizing to her and dating her best friend? Was she transported to Mars in her sleep, or an alternate universe? Was she suddenly going to be seen as the dumbest witch of her time or was Harry suddenly absolute rubbish at Quidditch? It just didn't make sense to her.

What did make sense, however, was Harry's ability to find the good in people. Something that she found herself lacking more often than not, Harry always believed that people could grow and change with time. Any time she had doubted his trust, he had proven that it was well-placed and proved her wrong time and time again. As much as she internally protested it, she knew it was time she took a leap of faith for her best friend, despite the small part of her screaming to keep Harry and Draco separated and as far away from each other as possible.

"I..er. Well. If Harry believes you've changed.. I'll give you one shot." She couldn't believe the words falling from her mouth, half wondering if was currently under the imperius curse. "But I'm keeping an eye on you, Malfoy." She narrowed her eyes, putting far too much effort into looking menacing. "And if you ever revert back to the prat you were by a mere one percent, I'll end you."

"See!" Harry boasted a bit too loudly, clapping his hands and snapping Hermione out of the ugly glare she was shooting Malfoy to emphasize her threat, "I knew she'd come around! Now to announce to Ron. Can't imagine that'll go more smoothly than this, though."

"It warms my heart that even being hundreds of miles away, you still told me before Ronald," Hermione grinned, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically. "when do you plan on telling him?"

"Well, today, if he ever shows up," Draco drawled, rolling up the sleeve of his button-up and checking his watch impatiently.

 _"What?"_

Harry winced at Hermione's frantic tone.

"I couldn't figure out how to tell you sooner, 'Mione. And it'll be good for the two of you to reconnect! He told me you haven't talked since the end of your eng-" he cleared his throat after looking at Hermione's expression, "you-know-what. I'm sure he misses you."

"If only the feeling were mutual." Hermione mumbled, eliciting a bark of a laugh from Draco. If she weren't in such a dreadful mood, she might have found herself warming up to him a bit.

"Things didn't end that badly, Hermione," Harry coaxed, trying to keep her from exploding into one of her fits of rage that she had become known for whenever she didn't get enough quiet time back when they lived in the Gryffindor common room. "You still agreed to be friends. It won't be as awful as you think."

"Are you daft, Harry? You _always_ agree to be friends when you split; that doesn't mean you actually stay friends! It's a way of staying amiable before you run in the opposite direction!"

"So that's why you haven't been answering the letters I've been sending to you and Bill?"

An all too familiar voice chimed into the conversation, and Hermione cringed harder than she ever had before.

Could she manage to crawl inside herself, completely bundle up and never come outside again? Disappear into absolute nothingness by repeatedly folding inwards again and again until nothing of her remained?

She could never be that lucky.

"Oh, Ronald, you know I didn't mean it that way," Hermione said earnestly, turning to face the bright-eyed ginger man behind her. "We desperately needed a break and you know it. We were two seconds away from destroying the Burrow the last fight we had."

"Yeah, but things weren't _that_ bad—"

"They were."

"—and we've had plenty of time apart."

"I _really_ would rather avoid this conversation right now, Ronald," And she would continue to avoid it until the end of time if she could, but bringing that up right now wasn't her best game plan. "something more important has come up, actually, and I think we should redirect our attention to the blond man holding hands with our best friend."

It took a moment for what she said to sink in, and she could see the cogs in Ron's head slowly turning, attempting to understand the image in front of him. How long could it possibly take to put two and two together?

"Bloody hell, Harry—you and Malfoy?!" Ron erupted, starting on an unintelligible rampage about the golden boy of Slytherin while Harry gave Hermione the dirtiest look he could muster.

She grimaced in response, mouthing "I'm sorry" as obviously as she possibly could with the thought in mind of Harry's horrible inability to read lips. She had to direct the attention away from her and Ron's failed relationship and unfortunately, Harry and Draco were the easiest diversion within her desperate reach.

"Well, with that, I think I better take a stroll and check on the students. I'll just—" She stood up and squirmed between Ron and headed towards the exit, Ron taking her place without missing a breath in his tirade. "—Head out. I'll catch up with the three of you later."

She didn't miss the finger Draco sent her way under the table and she smiled cheekily at him before darting out the door—and running head-on into a hard, immovable force outside the Three Broomsticks.

"Ooof!" She exhaled, falling backwards and narrowly avoiding landing hard on her arse, the immovable force grabbing onto her and keeping her steady.

"We have to stop running into each other like this," Tom Riddle dead-panned, only releasing her when her eyes continually darted between his face and his hands resting casually on her arms.

"Yes, we definitely do," She laughed, blowing her messy hair out of her face as best as she could, avoiding fussing with it as much as she longed to do. "Having a good trip to Hogsmeade, Tom?"

"I can safely say it just got infinitely better."

Warmth blossomed from her chest and traveled up her neck as she struggled to avoid looking him in the face, praying he wouldn't notice the red trail that would be a noticeable contrast on her cold skin.

Although attempting to avoid his face, she couldn't help curse him for appearing flawless wherever he went; with an emerald sweater fitted ever-so snuggly across his broad chest, the colour complementing his alabaster skin and his skin contrasting beautifully with his dark curls, it truly wasn't fair for someone to be so wholly attractive.

"I've been meaning to catch you to speak with you about our lessons—remember? The ones you said you'd consider reinstating?"

"Ah, yes. Those lessons." Hermione cleared her throat and straightened her cloak, refocusing on Tom appropriately. "I've thought about it, and we can enter a probationary period with them. If I so much as think for a moment your ideals haven't changed from the blood purist shite you've brought up in the past, they're over. Does that sound like a deal?"

"Absolutely, Hermione," He breathed, gratitude tangling into his words but not quite reaching his eyes. They remained cold and hard as they often did, emotion never reaching them, making most of his words seem insincere at best. "I promise I haven't reverted back to my 'blood purist shite' within the few days we've spoken. I've been told I'm quite good at listening."

"Good at listening but not necessarily at changing," she mumbled under her breath, wincing when she realized her thoughts had tumbled out of her mouth once more during the most inopportune times.

He shot her a curious look, dark eyebrow raising ever-so slightly, a question forming on his lips but was interrupted by a not-so-quiet slew of curses coming from the entrance of the Three Broomsticks.

"That fucking _prick_ —"

"Oh, great," Hermione mumbled, redirecting her attention to her former lover and ever-growing thorn in her side. She regretted thinking so poorly of Ronald, but leaving him was the best decision for the both of them; they simply weren't compatible, his child-like mind and quick temper often butting heads with her intelligent tendencies and her similarly quick temper. They were both always right in their own eyes and it made it difficult to have a relationship in the few breaths they got between arguments.

She saw Tom take notice of her reaction and grimaced—at this point, she felt her face would freeze that way after the day she was having—not wanting him to pick up on the relationship between herself and Ron.

"—Thank god, 'Mione, finally _someone_ with half a brain in this place." He took a few steps with his long legs and easily stood beside her, grabbing her hand and gently tugging.

It took all she had to not vehemently rip her hand away from his, feeling like his warm skin scalded her cold hand. She pulled away as gently as she could, doing her best to avoid upsetting him further during the continuation of the tirade that started inside the building not even five minutes earlier.

"I'm in the middle of a conversation with a student, Ronald," She announced authoritatively, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, preparing herself for whatever may come; with Ron, things were almost always unpredictable when it came to how he would react to things—would he take things easily, allowing her day to continue smoothly, or would he find the smallest thing to blow up over? "It's best you wait elsewhere—I must pay attention to the needs of my students first and foremost."

Tom coughed behind her, suspiciously sounding as though he were covering a laugh at her words. She wanted to punch his arm until it fell off.

"Of course, 'Mione, I understand."

She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron said, moving past Hermione and holding his hand out to Tom.

Tom's dark gaze fell to Ron's hand in a moment of hesitation, but it seemed he quickly remembered who he was and what was expected of him by the general public and firmly grasped Ron's hand momentarily before letting go.

"Tom Riddle, head boy." A warm smile was plastered on his face, the definition of kind and welcoming. Hermione, being the overly observant person she always was, immediately saw through it, noticing the greed in his eyes at new information dropping onto his lap. "It's a pleasure to meet a friend of Professor Granger. She's so secretive about everything—almost makes it seem like she dropped out of the sky the way she is."

Her smile became more forced as she worried over the information Ron could potentially give to Tom—

"I'm a bit more than a friend, mate," Ron chuckled as though laughing at his own private joke that she certainly wasn't apart of.

—but nothing was more dreadful than the incorrect information Ronald was spewing from his mouth faster than she could cork, preferably with her fist planted firmly in his face.

"We've been engaged."


	9. Chapter 9

The world instantly turned scarlet, her vision blurred by anger and hurt. He knew he put emphasis on the wrong portion of that sentence, and the bastard stood there with a smug look, _proud_ of himself for announcing something that hadn't been true for a long time.

 _Engaged_ rather than _been_ engaged.

He was staking his claim on her and she hated him for it.

"Not that it's something I care to share with a student," She interrupted any conversation that could start from his bullshit, hiding her shaking hands in her robe pockets, "but the operative word here is _been._ Meaning the past. As in, _none of anyone's business._ "

Ron recoiled at the venom in her voice, clearly not expecting her to rebuke his statement so vehemently. She couldn't find it in herself to care about the hurt displayed on the ginger boy's face.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron breathed, embarrassment spreading across his face in a red hue, "Being engaged isn't the worst thing in the world. You don't have to protest like you never cared for me in the first place." His unabashed display of self-pity made her want to murder him all the more.

She grabbed his arm and pulled violently, nails digging into skin underneath cloth, and directed him away from Tom, away from students, away from _anyone_ that could possibly overhear the continuation of their conversation.

"Now is _not_ the time to dredge up your sorrows over the end of our relationship, Ronald," Hermione seethed through gritted teeth, not entirely sure her hair wasn't on fire from the flames erupting in her chest, "This is why I haven't responded to your letters. This is why I haven't reached out to you in the time I've been away to Egypt. This is why I _no longer associate with you_ , because you can't keep your feelings or your words to _yourself_." She found herself snarling the last words, unable to contain her disdain for the man she used to love standing in front of her.

"Hermione—"

"No. Not another word, Ronald." She shook her head, refusing to let him get another word in edgewise. "Either you leave Hogsmeade or you return to Harry and Draco. If I see you before the day is through, I'll hex you up and down the street until your whole body aches for the next month."

His previously agape mouth snapped closed and Hermione could have sewn it shut had it not been for her current career choice—as much as she wanted to hurt Ron the way that he continued to hurt her with his absentmindedness and his self-centered behavior, and as much as she wanted to believe she could cause him such pain, she wouldn't risk tarnishing her reputation any further for someone who she planned to keep in her past.

So instead of continuing her tirade, she turned on her heel and left Ron standing in the secluded alleyway she had blindly led them to with a dramatic _swoosh_ of her cloak to return to Tom Riddle, standing much in the same place she had left him.

With his brow furrowed and jaw set tightly, it seemed he wasn't thrilled about being left out of the remainder of the conversation.

"Sorry, Tom," she said, out of breath and struggling to catch it, "A bit of a misunderstanding between Ronald and I—nothing to worry about further."

"Brilliant." He replied icily, his tone not matching the words coming from his mouth. His smile was as obviously fake as she had ever seen it, as though no real effort was put behind it. "As much fun as this has been, Professor, I must return to my rounds of the village to check on my fellow classmates."

She flinched at the noticeable difference in his attitude towards her before and after Ronald's unfortunate arrival; from what she interpreted as light flirting to being cold and aloof, she couldn't quite comprehend the abrupt change in his behaviour. Was he annoyed with _her_?

"Oh, uh," she fumbled, not used to being caught unaware twice in rapid succession, "Of course. Sorry to hold you over."

He nodded, his dark curls following the movement, and stalked off in the opposite direction. She took notice of his rigid stance and set shoulders as he quickly made his leave.

What had pissed him off so quickly?

* * *

"Mr. Riddle, if you could please stay after class."

Hermione had waited the remainder of the weekend and until the end of the school day to talk to him.

He'd been acting strange since their latest interaction—avoiding eye contact, dodging her in the halls, not raising his hand in class as he so often did to showcase his intelligence and superiority over the rest of the students.

It was odd, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't upset about it.

She had grown accustomed to his presence, as weird as that sounded. It felt like he was always right there when she turned a corner or needed conversation, always conveniently placed and readily available.

It appears that had been on purpose though, rather than pure luck, as his annoyance with whatever she had done had led to his disappearance. Had she not seen him in the halls and at lunch, she'd question whether he had been in the infirmary or kidnapped.

She knew it was childish and unfair, really, for her to hold him up after class, but she was desperate—and unbelievably anxious, an uncomfortable reality she tried to ignore—to know what she had done to upset him.

"What can I do for you, Professor?" He said, sickly sweet, his perfectly amiable smile plastered on his face.

It was so fake it made her heart plummet into her stomach.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you in my office." She asked authoritatively, putting all the confidence she knew she didn't have into her words.

"Why the privacy, Professor? Surely whatever you need to say can be said right here." Tom challenged, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders.

"It can't. It's a private matter regarding our lessons. If you wish to continue them, that is."

A flash of annoyance crossed his chiseled face before he recomposed himself, gesturing with his right hand for her to lead the way to her office.

"After you, then."

They entered her office and she waved her hand, effectively charming it to close by itself as she motioned for him to sit in the maroon chair positioned in front of her desk.

"I'll stand, if that's alright." He stood still as a statue, staring directly into her eyes. It was unnerving, and it seemed he would be challenging her every decision- just how mad could he possibly be over something as trivial as being the witness to an ex-lovers' quarrel? "Now, what simply couldn't wait that we had to have this discussion _right now_?" He mocked her, rolling his dark eyes towards the ceiling.

"Why are you upset with me?" She blurted. She was tired of beating around the bush, tired of his attitude, just _tired._ She felt her cheeks catch fire at her unabashed questioning.

"Why am I upset with you?" He repeated her question, his baritone hinting at the confusion he felt. It appeared she had blindsided him—good. It was his turn to feel out of sorts in one of their conversations.

"Yes. You've been acting strangely since our meeting in Hogsmeade—not at all like yourself. What happened that led you to be upset with me?"

"Hermione." He exhaled heavily through his nose, his irritation palpable. "You pulled me aside for this? To what—calm your worries that I might have lost interest in you to pursue interests elsewhere?" He sneered, his words making her realize his accusations weren't entirely uncalled for. "I have bigger things to worry about than you, you know. You're not the center of everyone's world as much as you like to think you are."

Hermione flinched visibly, his frigid voice and criticism like a slap to the face.

"I don't think I'm the center of anyone's world, Riddle," she replied, putting all of her effort into pretending she wasn't hurt, "and I certainly don't think I'm the center of yours. If we're to work together, we need to be open with each other. If everything is as okay as you say it is, I need not worry, and I trust your word."

"That's it, then? Just taking what I said in stride?"His laugh was hollow as he angrily ran his hand through his hair. "You're maddening, you know? One second you're flirting with me and the next you're introducing me to your fiancé—"

" _He's not my_ _fiancé_."

"—ex fiancé, _whatever—_ and you expect me to just, what? Happily stand by as you galavant around with as many people as you see fit? That's not how I work, Hermione. What's mine is mine. _I do not share._ " He snarled the last words, his breathing ragged as he slammed his open palm down onto her desk with a resounding _smack_.

"You're delusional," she ground out, annoyance palpable, "you're delusional if you think there's anything between us, Tom Riddle. I'm your _teacher_. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't know how you gathered the idea that we were somehow bound together in _any way_ , but know now that nothing of the sort will leave this room."

He barked out a cold laugh, his eyes manic as he crossed the room towards her. She backed up subconsciously, his anger frightening her more than she cared to admit, until her back made contact with stone.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me there's nothing between us," Tom breathed, his breath smelling of cinnamon and pumpkin juice, "tell me you feel nothing for me and I'll leave this room and never look back. Tell me we aren't the same, that we aren't drawn to each other because our likeness."

"There's nothing between us, Tom," She whispered so quietly she could barely hear herself. She was quivering, fighting her every instinct that told her to run, to get away from the obviously crazy man planted firmly in front of her.

"Say that again," He growled. "Louder. Let's here the conviction in your voice if you're so certain."

She looked him dead in the eyes, barely able to recognize the difference between pupil and iris, his gaze so dark.

"There's nothing between us."

He returned her stare for a moment, blinking back at her before a smirk formed in the corner of his mouth.

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione." He murmured, lips a whisper away from hers, her hands resting on his chest instinctively as if to push him away, but instead lay frozen.

He gently pushed a curl away from her face and she felt her eyes fluttering shut—his cold, quiet laugh causing them to snap back open.

"You're mine. It's best for everyone that you remember it—I don't share, and I don't play fair."

As quickly as he had advanced towards her, he was gone, gathering his schoolbag and heading out the door, pausing only to quietly shut it behind him.

Hermione released the breath she didn't know she was holding and slid to the floor, knees to her chest and head collapsing into her hands.

What had she gotten herself into?


	10. Chapter 10

_Professor Hermione Granger_

 _Great Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

 _Scottish Highlands_

 _Hermione,_

 _Things are bad. So bad that I don't know how else to tell you this: Garrett is dead._

 _I don't know how it happened. Everything went so quickly. One second we were working the wards in the pyramids like we always do and the next he was thrown backwards. He was gone the moment he hit the ground. I'm so sorry to tell you like this; I'd much rather have said something in person, but Gringotts is keeping this wrapped up tightly and things are an absolute mess around here._

 _I don't know when you can come back, but Sam and I need you here. If we're to get through this and break into the chambers, we need your help. We can't think of any other way. I know it's not smart. I know. But I can't let this go, not knowing that Garrett died for this._

 _Please respond as soon as you can— your level headedness will be a breath of fresh air compared to the chaos around me right now._

 _Bill_

Tear drops stained the letter, her own mixing with the already present and further smearing the ink on the crisp parchment.

Garrett was gone. Just like that.

And it could have been any one of them. One wrong move, one spell too probing, and your life could be snuffed out instantaneously.

They had always known it was a possibility, but she couldn't have ever imagined it actually happening—let alone to someone on her team, someone she had shared arguments, laughter, and friendship with over the year they had worked together.

It could have been Bill. How would the Weasley's handle the loss of one of their many children? How could she face Ron after the arguments they had not even a week prior?

It could have been Sam. Sam, the man with the ever-bright smile and too-loud laugh. His wife would be in pieces, left alone with a baby on the way.

Hell, it could have been _her._ She was always reckless, always the first to charge forward and challenge a ward before any of the others. She was too headstrong for her own good, and it _would_ have been her had she not been away at Hogwarts. She should consider herself lucky.

She should be thankful that it wasn't Bill, or Sam, or even herself, but she couldn't be thankful for the death of a friend, no matter how brief the friendship.

Hermione clutched the letter to her heart, attempting to push all of her anguish and despair into it before she cast _incendio_ , lighting the letter on fire and watching it go up in smoke. She wished her sorrow could be erased that easily, but things were never simple.

She cast a quick _muffliato_ before letting out a guttural sob, falling to the dusty stone floor and allowing herself to scream, beg, simply _cry_ until she couldn't anymore. She transfigured books into glass and shattered them amongst the four walls she had confined herself to in the abandoned classroom. She punched the wall until blood dripped from her knuckles to the floor, until her hand was numb from the pain that she felt throughout her entire body.

Things weren't fair. Life wasn't fair.

She slid to the floor once more, breathing harder than she had ever thought possible, quaking from the emotions tearing through her body.

Garrett was gone. Her friend was gone.

He was never coming back.

She couldn't bring him back, no matter how much she wanted to and how hard she knew she could try; she could search every last book in the castle, under every rock and in every corner, but even her extensive ability to research and find answers would fail her.

He was gone, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to reverse it.

One breath in, one breath out.

Hermione continued like this until her breathing slowed, and even longer after that.

She refused to move until every last tear had dried up, every emotion had dulled, and her senses were thoroughly numb.

She wiped her face, allowed one last quiver of her lip and silenced her shaking hands. She scourgified and healed her injured right hand until nothing was left but red irritation from the continued contact with stone.

She would not let her grief show in front of the students.

She would hold her class as usual, teach to the best of her abilities, and allow herself to return to it once the school day was over.

Just one more period. One more period and she was free.

* * *

"Class dismissed."

Hermione released the breath she felt like she was holding throughout the entire lesson; the charade of being perfectly fine was one she wasn't used to entertaining, and breathlessness seemed to be a side effect.

Where she usually waited until each student filed out before returning to her office, she headed towards it as quickly as possible, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

"Professor Granger?" A familiar baritone inquired. She stopped in her tracks but refused to turn around.

"I'm a bit busy right now. I'll answer your questions tomorrow." She replied shakily, cursing herself for her inability to keep her voice steady.

"It's quite important. I'll follow you to your office."

She shrugged in response. She wasn't capable of fighting him off today, not able to play the games he so much enjoyed playing with her. She led the way to her office, holding the door open only long enough for him to slip inside before swiftly closing and latching it.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

Her vision swam with tears, blurring Tom until all she could see of him was an outline of emerald and black.

"I'm perfectly fine," She managed, voice quaking. "What did you need of me?"

"Come here."

Instead of fighting like she so often would, she simply nodded, running head first into his chest that muffled a sob.

Could that horrible noise really be erupting from her?

Tom shushed her, his large hand tangled in her already messy hair as he held her closer to him.

Where she expected to be bombarded with questions, she was met with comfort and kindness— two things she had never expected to experience from Tom, but happening to be just what she needed. He simply held her, ran his fingers through her hair—or attempted to—and let her cry.

They could have stood like that for five minutes or five hours; the time blurred together between her sobs and hiccups, and just as she thought she'd finished, another bout would start.

She cried until she couldn't anymore, wincing at the inevitably wet jumper she left in her wake, and moved to sit down at her desk, sniffling all the while. Tom let her go but moved his chair beside hers, concern etched on every corner of his face.

"Tell me what happened."

Not a question, but rather a demand. She could accept that. It's not often you come into a professor's office with a purpose and end up with it completely derailed, professor instead wailing all over your now-ruined jumper. Mark that as another reason she was completely inexperienced for her current position—who does that to a student?

"A member of my team back in Egypt has unfortunately passed away," she answered robotically, trying to keep herself distant from the subject lest she started crying again. She refused to make eye contact with him. "Garrett. Something went horribly wrong and he got hurt. They couldn't save him."

"Hermione," Tom murmured. When she still avoided looking at him, he gently grabbed her chin and pulled her attention back to him. His dark eyes shone with concern, and it was perhaps the first time an emotion outside of rage and contempt truly reached them. "I'm sorry you're going through this. What can I do to help you?"

"A tissue other than your jumper would do nicely."

He snorted and rolled his eyes, transfiguring a quill on her desk into a handkerchief; as she rubbed it gently against her nose, she pleasantly took note of how soft it was. Whenever Harry tried it always turned out far too rough.

"Is there any other support I can offer you outside of tissues? I can assure you I have more assistance to offer outside of being a walking napkin."

It was her turn to snort, but hers transformed into peals of laughter; she threw her head back and laughed—harder than she should have—at his poor attempt at comedy.

"No, I think I'm good." She smiled hesitantly at him, embarrassed at her overwhelming display of emotions. "I must have seemed like an absolute loon, you coming in here to ask a question and me turning around and sobbing on you."

"I'll admit, it wasn't what I had expected; I usually have quite the opposite effect on women," he smiled cheekily, then grew somber, "honestly, Hermione, the reason I followed you was because I noticed something was off with you. You're never as aloof as you were during class—I knew something had to be wrong."

"None of the other students noticed," Hermione sniffed, not believing she had let any outward notion of her internal turmoil show through.

Tom rolled his eyes once more—honestly, she should start counting how often she made him do it—and scoffed.

"My classmates are imbeciles, but that's beside the point." He shook his head, curls moving ever so slightly with the movement. "I know you, Hermione. I notice changes in your behavior because I know who you are and how you work." He shrugged nonchalantly, voice factual as if he were discussing today's weather forecast or what was served at dinner.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Tom," she said, anxiously shuffling her hands at the turn of the conversation. She felt herself fighting back a groan—how many times would they return to this topic before he effectively backed off? He had somehow moved closer to her throughout their conversation, his knees now touching hers.

He covered her hands with his larger hands, effectively stopping her nervous movements.

"I know you better than you could possibly know, Hermione," he breathed, leaning towards her more and more, his body slowly eclipsing hers. "I know how you think, how you work; I know what you're thinking right now, actually."

"What am I thinking, then?"

"You want me to kiss you."

She coughed heavily in response, his words more of a call out than she had expected. Was her interest that obvious? She needed to immediately dispel any notion that she was even thinking about it—her longing uncalled for, she blamed it on her slew of emotions she had felt throughout the day.

"Try again, Tom," She said, forcing a laugh out. "I don't know why you're always insisting I've anything more than scholarly interest in you."

"Because I'm not blind?" He snapped, obviously not enjoying her laughing at his expense.

He visibly recomposed himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily through it and seemingly counting to ten mentally before continuing.

"You look specifically for me in crowds. Each morning your eyes seek out mine during breakfast, and you smile whenever you find me. You enjoy our conversations and often start them yourself. You're always running ideas with me and coming to me whenever you've hit a mental roadblock. You constantly seek comfort in me whenever you feel alone or out of sorts. _I know you, Hermione, and I know what you want._ When will you accept that and take it? This helpless shit is beneath you." His voice hardened on the last sentence, making her sit straighter in her chair.

"You're right, Tom," she whispered, and his eyes instantly lit up with surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face, highlighting all of his features in the most breathtaking way. She'd be lying if she said it didn't knock the wind out of her lungs. "You're right. This helpless shit _is_ beneath me." She ripped her hands out from under his and stood anyway, not allowing her inner desires to control her anymore.

Tom's face immediately hardened, his jaw ticking with annoyance. He stood as well, towering over her and reminding her just how small she was.

"You're so god-damned stubborn," He snarled. "You just can't make anything easy between us. _You are mine._ Why can't you come to terms with something you want so desperately?"

She didn't have to take him bombarding her with his usual bullshit. She knew that she didn't, and she planned to kick him out firmly on his ass for it.

She also knew she didn't have to respond to him, but she couldn't let him leave the room thinking he had won. Anger rising, she retorted once more:

"I don't want you, Tom—"

Her words were interrupted by his lips crashing into hers, his hands tangling into her hair and pulling her closer.

She froze, her body battling her mind; this had been something she had wanted, she couldn't deny that; had even _dreamt_ about it, for Merlin's sake, but it was _wrong._

His tongue darted out across her lips, looking for any sign of weakness, and her automatic sigh gave him the access he needed. His tongue stroked hers ever so lightly, and it was as if it lit her entire body on fire.

She kissed him back with force, knocking him backwards. He hesitated momentarily, shock evident from her sudden enthusiasm, but quickly readjusted; he groaned in response and pulled her even closer, trailing his hands down her curves slowly to cup her arse.

She jumped up into his ready arms, her body aligning with his in the perfect way to feel his length against her core, as he carried her to the wall. Tom slammed her up against it hard enough that her back would most likely bruise, but she couldn't find it in herself to give a shit at that moment; she moaned as she could feel his entire body pressed up against hers, the delicious friction between the two of them making her throw all common sense out the window.

Hermione desperately clung to him, kissing him back in earnest, her hands aggressively pulling on his dark curls—something she had wanted to do for a long, _long_ time—and he snarled in response, kissing her even harder than before.

He began trailing kisses and bites down her jaw to her neck and she took the time to catch her breath as best as she could, her body on fire with each touch of his lips. He stopped momentarily and she groaned in protest, his arrogant smirk making her want to punch him in his perfect face.

"Really seems like you don't want me, Hermione," he said, voice dangerously husky, both panting in a desperate attempt to catch their breath.

The momentary interlude caused her senses to flood back to her all at once, and she flushed with something other than desire—horror.

 _What on Earth had she let herself do?_

"Tom, put me down," she said desperately, panic rising in her voice.

"In a minute. I'm a bit busy." He said absentmindedly. He had returned to kissing her neck earnestly, toggling between gentle pecks and light bites.

"Tom, I mean it."

His eyes met hers and took notice of the panic swirling manically in hers.

He immediately sat her down, stepping back slightly to readjust himself and his clothing.

"Hermione, I—"

"You have to leave."

"Why?" He replied angrily. "I think this—" he gestured between the two of them, "—proves a point. There's no use denying it."

" _You have to leave right now."_

He hesitated momentarily, gauging her seriousness, and must have decided she was quite serious because he took another step back, giving her the breathing room she so desperately craved.

"This isn't over, you know," He ground out, crossing his arms and leveling her with a glare.

"Oh, I know." She returned. She knew damn well that things weren't over, and she was effectively in deep shit. She winced internally at the fresh memory of his lips on hers, not quite believing she allowed it to happen.

He accepted her acknowledgement as the end of their conversation—her expression must have been quite deadly, as he always insisted on having the last word—and angrily walked to the door, looking back one more time before shaking his head in exasperation and leaving.

 _Fuck._

She could get fired for this.

 **A/N: Tom can be quite the manipulative bastard when he wants to be, can't he?**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** **Hey guys, this is from Tom's POV. I know it's a bit different and pretty short, but just so you can get an understanding of how Tom thinks about Hermione and their current situation. Thanks xx**

Hermione could get fired for this, and Tom couldn't find it in himself to worry about that for even a moment.

They were equally intelligent, mature people; the matter wouldn't slip unless one of them did, and he'd burn in hell before he'd allow either of them to get caught—and burning in hell was something quite difficult for him to do, seeing as he already had his horcruxes in play.

Yes, things were lining up perfectly for Tom; he'd turned seventeen last year, allowing him to do magic without interference from the Ministry of Magic. Perfect timing, really, as he had plans for father dearest and his grandparents. One visit to them and his second horcrux was made, currently resting on his ring finger on his right hand. It was an emblem that he didn't care to take off at any point; had someone noticed it, they'd see it as a class ring or perhaps even a gaudy display of wealth he didn't have. No one knew the wiser—not even Dumbledore, that bumbling old coot, that always insisted on getting into his business one way or the other.

Dumbledore was awfully suspicious of him when Myrtle had turned up dead a year prior, getting ever so close to discovering the truth behind the murder. It wasn't necessarily a murder in his mind, though, as it wasn't entirely on purpose; he was honing his ability to control the basilisk and she just happened to be collateral damage.

No matter.

He managed to pin the entire thing on some idiot who had a proclivity for keeping things he shouldn't—those things being illegal, deadly creatures.

One trip to the headmaster's office with the proof of the creature being released in the castle—the creature being a giant spider, not the basilisk that had rightfully killed poor Myrtle—and Dumbledore couldn't deny the dangers the other boy'd put the school in.

Instantaneous success for Tom. Dumbledore was off his back for the time being and he got an award for special services to the school—a bit vague, but something he could still brag about and use to deflect any questions otherwise.

Yes, things were going quite well for Tom lately, including his progress with his Arithmancy professor.

He hadn't expected things to happen so quickly, he'd admit; the opportunity to make his move arose much more quickly than he'd ever expected, what with the death of her colleague and the ensuing chaos it caused for her.

All he had to do was be present. He didn't even have to say a word, just stand there and allow her to sob into his shirt and make an absolute mess of his favourite jumper—once again, collateral damage in comparison to the progress towards the big picture.

The big picture being the kiss.

And _fuck,_ was it a kiss.

He hadn't expected himself to become so enamoured with her. He'd known from the start that she was someone he had to collect, had to own from the moment she had spoken with him on September 1st. His determination hardened with each interaction they had, each argument, each epiphany, each lesson they had together.

She was powerful and he had to cultivate her. He hadn't met anyone so willing to display magic outside of the usual _expelliarmus_ or _stupefy_ ; she was even willing to teach him to harness his own, that magic was fluid rather than static, that he didn't _need_ to have a prerecorded set of spells in order to prosper in life.

It was in those moments that he knew she had to be his.

He couldn't allow someone so much like him to slip through his fingers. And they were just alike; both with less-than-desirable blood status, both with something to prove to even compete with purebloods. Both capable of much more than schooling had to offer.

He was thankful she had taken up individual lessons with him. Hermione was undeniably clever, using wandless magic in the smallest of ways that he could only determine to be done absentmindedly, as well as capable of doing things others would have thought impossible.

 _He_ hadn't thought her power to be impossible, though, as he was just as capable as she was.

He tried not to show it, but he'd honed his proclivity for wandless, wordless magic in his free time.

She had picked up on his abilities automatically, knowing he was special the moment he first cast a riotous fire in her classroom; she didn't believe him for a second that he hadn't been well-practiced, and she didn't hesitate to call him out on it.

It was refreshing to have someone so aware of your charades, if not entirely frustrating.

She refused to believe any of his bullshit, instantly bringing it up whenever he lied even slightly. It was infuriating—to have someone that's only known him for a few months to be so entirely honed on your tendencies was unnerving, to say the least, and he wasn't one to be unnerved.

So he pushed harder.

He put all his time and effort into wooing her, into getting her attention and pushing her attraction towards him as far as he could. Her attraction was palpable, no matter how much she protested it, and he was shocked to say he returned the sentiment.

It was hard to deny someone so intelligent wrapped up in a pretty little package.

She was his, and he pushed every button he could until he got what he wanted.

And _fuck_ , did he get what he wanted tenfold.

She had hesitated long enough that he had worried he misjudged his opportunities, but when she finally kissed him back, she kissed him back earnestly.

Hermione's scent had flooded his senses, properly intoxicating him and driving him to kiss her harder, to slam her into the wall to keep any distance from coming between them. She pulled his hair, wrapped her legs around his waist, and _fuck,_ did he love to hear her moan. It was nearly his undoing after having imagined it for so long.

He was unashamed to admit that he had pictured that exact interaction a time or two in the shower early in the morning. She was desirable, dammit, and completely _his_ whether she knew it or not.

He'd just recently decided to take it in stride that she freaked out towards the end even though it thoroughly pissed him off at the time. It was reasonable, after all, having just kissed a boy she had promised to teach. He'd expected an overreaction of some sort, and wasn't at all surprised when it finally happened; it couldn't have come at a more inopportune time, of course, but he had to allow the process to play out as it needed to.

She would freak out, avoid him, inevitably miss his company, and return to him, proving she was truly his with her actions rather than her words.

He'd have her saying it—screaming it, really, if he had his choice—soon enough.

 **A/N: Tom's awfully full of himself.**


	12. Chapter 12

She wanted to scream.

How could she possibly have failed herself so badly that she kissed a student?

Did she lose her mind?

It was much more than a lapse in judgement, more so a lapse in mental stability; she wasn't sure if she should quit her job or reserve a bed for herself at Mungo's in the psych ward.

What kind of professor actually acted on their feelings towards a student?

She could see other professors potentially developing feelings towards one of their students. It wasn't unheard of; working that closely with others tended to spur feelings, after all, and she could admit to having a minor crush on Bill when she first started working in Egypt.

Yes, it certainly wasn't unheard of to develop feelings for someone you work closely with, and students and professors worked more closely than most others.

But to actually _act_ on those feelings?

She hadn't jumped Bill the first opportunity that had arose; she simply let the crush fade out until nothing remained but purely platonic feelings.

Why couldn't she do that with Tom?

Why couldn't she have just separated herself from him like her senses had told her time and time again? Keep her distance until her body synced with her brain, both agreeing that he was off limits and something completely unattainable?

But he _was_ attainable to her. And that was the problem. He made sure she knew of his attraction to her, and even worse, her attraction towards him.

He played her like a fiddle, knowing from the moment they met that something sparked between them. He used it, pushed it until she could barely breathe without thinking about him.

He was too intelligent for his own good, or even hers.

Look at the situation they were both in now- having kissed, she desperately wanted to avoid him at all costs, wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened and return to being the proper professor she knew she could be.

But she also knew she couldn't rightly distance herself without drawing attention to the situation, and the less attention the better.

No, she'd have to continue having private lessons, continue calling on him in class, continue favoring him to avoid the possibility of someone noticing a difference in their relationship.

She'd simply have to make sure that relationship remained one that a student/teacher should have: completely platonic, purely scholarly, and certainly not romantic in the least.

* * *

The following day had started out well for her.

She didn't search him out during breakfast despite feeling his stare return to her time and time again.

She didn't look for him during lunch, either.

Instead, she had chatted with Horace and Harry, discussing the next Slug Club meeting.

" _Surely you'll come along, Hermione! I've already managed to wrangle the elusive man next to you—always too busy to attend, but not this time!" Slughorn boasted, ignoring the food in front of him for conversation that was unfortunately focused on Hermione and Harry._

 _Hermione's eyes darted to Harry's and she noticed a hint of horror and regret at having been 'wrangled' by their previous Potions professor, and she had to stifle a laugh._

 _They hadn't managed to avoid him during school, and she certainly wouldn't be able to now; no more excuses of too much studying. She could use the excuse of grading papers, but she wasn't low enough to sacrifice Harry for her own benefit—not after what happened at Hogsmeade not too long ago, when she had done just that._

" _I'm pleased to be invited, Horace," Hermione said sweetly. "I simply can't wait to attend." If her words were sarcastic in the least, it was lost on Slughorn._

" _Brilliant, brilliant!" He responded far too loudly, drawing the attention of several students, including one she would prefer not to have noticed. "And maybe you can convince that quidditch star of yours to come along—what was it, Viktor Krum? He would be a splendid addition to the party!"_

 _Students began murmuring about her possible connection to Viktor and she felt her cheeks warm._

" _He's not in any way mine, Horace, but I'll send him an owl for you."_

" _Thatta girl, Hermione," Slughorn winked, pleased with himself and the way the conversation had turned in his favour._

What she was truly pleased about was escaping Horace at the end of lunch; she quickly drank down her water and stood to leave, not allowing another opening for the Potions professor to interject once more.

She was absentmindedly wandered towards her next class, catching snippets of conversation from students as she went.

"And Collin told Seamus who told—"

"I can't believe you slept with him, Daphne!"

She winced at that one but continued forward.

"Yes, Tom asked me to Hogsmeade before we left the Great Hall... Of course I said yes; we're the obvious power couple of our year."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, leading to a fifth year almost running her over. She apologized and moved out of the way, unabashedly searching for the girl who had been speaking only a moment prior.

Much to her horror—and, if she were being completely honest, absolute anger—she found the source of the gossip: Pansy Parkinson.

Of all the girls to ask to Hogsmeade, _why_ did he have to choose _Pansy bloody Parkinson?_

Surely it couldn't be for her intelligence—while somehow managing to get into her Advanced Arithmancy class, she had received nothing more than a Dreadful on any of her papers. Could it possibly be because of her looks?

She was beautiful, Hermione had to admit.

Shiny black hair and flawless alabaster skin, she was the exact opposite of Hermione. Where Hermione's hair was curly and wholly uncontrollable, Pansy's was straight and manageable; where Hermione's skin was tan and peppered with scars, Pansy's was beautifully pale without a blemish in sight; where Hermione was short and a bit too thin, Pansy was tall with an envious amount of curves.

How could Hermione possibly compete with her?

That was just the conundrum—she couldn't. And she _shouldn't_.

She needed to eliminate the mindset that she had any ownership over Tom whatsoever. No matter how much it bothered her that Tom would willingly take someone with the intelligence of a teaspoon, she needed to get her shit together and continue with the mindset that Tom was her _student_. Nothing more.

* * *

" _Honestly,_ Miss Parkinson, have you paid any attention to my lessons since the start of school?" Hermione ground out, annoyance palpable.

Pansy paled—as if it were possible for her to appear any more pale than she already was— and stuttered.

"Of course I have, professor—I just don't seem to be grasping the concept as well as the rest of the class."

"If the rest of the class can keep up, it isn't on me that you can't. I recommend you get with someone and start studying, lest you plan to fail my class."

Pansy's eyes darted to Tom and Hermione saw red.

One breath in, one breath out.

Tom raised his hand and she motioned for him to speak, unable to get the words out herself.

"I'll tutor Miss Parkinson, Professor. It's really no trouble; we'll be meeting this weekend regardless." He said factually, shrugging his shoulders.

She was exasperated, knowing full well he was using this to punish her somehow. "I don't need to hear of your plans for the weekend, Mr. Riddle. Your valiant efforts to tutor Miss Parkinson are admirable. _Thank you_. Let's move on."

And move on they did; class continued in a blur for Hermione, and she was relieved when it finally ended, whether it had been ten minutes or an hour that had remained. She couldn't remember a single thing she'd tried to teach, her vision swimming in crimson the remainder of the class.

As it finally, blissfully came to an end and her students filed out, Hermione absentmindedly gathered the papers scattered across her desk, cursing herself all the while for her inability to keep herself from caring about the young man she had promised to forget. How could she forget, though, when they had shared that goddamn kiss that had left her quivering and unable to think about anything else?

She felt like a heroine from a cheesy romantic novel and she hated herself for it.

"That was quite a show you put on there, Hermione, but there's no need to take your anger out on another student when there's nothing between us."

She cursed him under her breath, casting _muffliato_ as quickly as she could.

How stupid could he be, bringing up anything regarding the two of them out in the open?

"I wasn't taking my anger out on anyone, Tom," She ground out. "Not everything is about you. It isn't my fault you picked someone who is well known for receiving "Troll" in my classes. At least she's pretty, though?"

"She is," he agreed. "Which is why she'll be my date to Hogsmeade this week. I don't suppose you find issue with that, do you?"

"I've no issue with that at all," she shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "I don't know why you're so concerned with my opinion on the matter."

"I just wanted to check," he quipped, leaning against her desk like it was his own. "Seeing as you just terrorized my date during your class. Some might call that jealousy. _Professor._ "

"I appreciate your concern for my feelings, Tom," she smiled sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes. "You're such a gentleman, watching out for your date _and_ your professor. You need not worry, though; I'm meeting an old friend and will be a bit too preoccupied to care about who my students decide to date."

"An old friend?" He questioned, raising a dark eyebrow, "This couldn't be the infamous Viktor Krum, could it?"

"It could, actually," She snapped, irritation rising. "I've told you this more often than I should have to: you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"We'll see about that," Tom murmured, his crooked, arrogant smile forming on his chiseled face. "I suppose I'll be seeing you around—have a good night, Professor." He winked at her before pushing off her desk and heading towards the door.

"You might want to be more careful of how you react next time—you wouldn't want anyone to get the notion you're interested in me," he called out over his shoulder before disappearing.

* * *

 _Виктор Крум_

 _Bulgarian National Quidditch Pitch_

 _Bulgaria_

 _Viktor,_

 _It's been a while since we've exchanged letters—how are you?_ _Caught any Snitches lately?_

 _I hope Quidditch and Bulgaria have been treating you well. I know you wouldn't complain if they weren't, but I'll still hope regardless that things have been good for you._

 _I've been recruited to teach at Hogwarts this year, can you believe it? Dumbledore reached out to me and I couldn't refuse. I miss Egypt terribly and the warm weather, but it's a comfort to have returned to the home I grew up in._

 _This is a bit out of the blue, I'll admit,_ _and I don't know how else to say it._ _But I was wondering if you'd like to meet up with me sometime soon._

 _There's a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend and it'd be refreshing to catch up with an old friend._

 _No worries if you can't—I know you're quite busy—but I'd be thrilled if you'd meet up with me. Say the Three Broomsticks at one o'clock?_

 _Please let me know as soon as you have free time._

 _Best,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

 _Hermione Granger_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Scottish Highlands_

 _Hermione,_

 _I will be there._

 _I look forward to seeing you. It has been too long._

 _Viktor_


	13. Chapter 13

"Hermy-own, this has been vunderful," Viktor said as they walk down the main path of Hogsmeade, slinging his arm over her shoulders casually. She mentally counted to five before shrugging him off, trying desperately not to seem rude but wanting to avoid physical contact as much as possible.

She liked Viktor, but not the way he liked her. She hoped her disinterest in him romantically had been evident as she continually blocked his advances, but it seemingly got lost in translation, similar to many of his Bulgarian mannerisms.

"It's been really great, Viktor," She responded happily, putting more effort into sounding it without wholly feeling it. "I'm so glad you came and that you'll be attending the Slug Club party. Horace can be an absolute menace, but he'll be properly starstruck with you around. Maybe that will be enough to get him to stop talking for at least two minutes."

He simply grinned in response, continuing to blindly lead the way back to Hogwarts—luckily there were students both in front of and behind them to herd him the appropriate direction.

Hermione found herself smiling back, appreciating the hospitable silence between the two of them. She turned around to see which students were heading back to the castle as well when she caught something out of the corner of her eye that immediately made her blood freeze.

Tom and Pansy.

They were walking down the path amicably, Pansy hanging off of Tom's arm and Tom smiling down at her. Hermione immediately felt her heart drop into her stomach, crashing there and deciding to make it her heart's new home.

"Hermy-own? Vat's the matter?"

She fought with her expression until it leveled out to normal and calm before responding.

"I thought I saw students making out in the woods—I had to do a double take to make sure there wasn't anyone I needed to break apart."

"Ah." He said, smiling largely once more. "To be young again." He looked at her in a way that made her quite uncomfortable—like he was going to eat her, or like he had plans for her that she wouldn't be interested in in the least.

"Well, we can stop here, if that's okay. I don't want you to walk too far from Hogsmeade, lest you get lost on your way back."

She turned around and somehow caught Tom's gaze, and she broke it instantaneously, not wanting him to know she had seen him.

"It vas good to see you," Viktor's voice boomed, demanding attention whether he meant to or not. "I look forvard to seeing you at Slughorn's party."

She winced at how loud his voice was and nodded in agreement.

"You can make your way back, right?" She questioned, hoping his answer would be yes; she really didn't want to make the trek back with the twenty pound weight resting in her stomach.

"Yes. If I need help, I'm sure one of your friendly students will help me."

She was certain of that, too, having been gawked at most of the day by fans of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team. They had been interrupted more than once during their time together, mostly by quidditch-loving boys who desperately needed his autograph right there and then. She would have been annoyed had she not been relieved—she didn't want to be _too_ alone with Viktor, worried he might try to pursue her like he used to when she was studying back in her fourth year. He'd asked her to stay with him in Bulgaria over the summer, for fuck's sake, and that was without more than a chaste hug she'd given him when they parted ways. She didn't want to give him any ideas simply because she invited him out to Hogsmeade.

"I'll see you soon—" she stopped abruptly, noticing the couple approaching. Tom and Pansy made to pass Hermione and Viktor and she couldn't help but panic.

She didn't want Tom to know she wasn't having a good time, and she certainly didn't want him to dredge up the notion that she had been jealous of the pair in any way.

So, in a momentary lapse of judgement, she leaned forward on the tips of her toes and kissed Viktor's cheek—and in what she'd convinced herself had to be a trick of the light, Tom's eyes flickered red.

* * *

As she made her way back to her chambers, she felt a strong hand grip her arm, hauling her into an abandoned classroom more quickly than she could fight back. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust—she blinked quickly, willing them to bloody well _see—_ and found herself staring down a fuming Tom Riddle.

"Yes, Tom?" She asked as she folded her arms across her chest. She breathed a small sigh of relief, glad that it was someone she knew who didn't plan to hurt her—for the time being.

"You know damn well why I've pulled you in here, Hermione," he snarled, hair disheveled as if he had ran his hands through it several times.

"No, I don't, Tom. Please enlighten me."

"Viktor Krum? Really?" He laughed coldly. "Why didn't you take the time to invite the minister of magic, for fuck's sake? That's the only way you'd get more attention than you did today."

"I warned you I'd be inviting him," she said, exasperated. "I don't know why you're acting like I've blindsided you."

She refused to budge as he crowded into her space, staring resolutely at his chest.

"And what I do in my personal life is no concern of yours, Tom, just like what you do in yours is no concern of mine. I am your professor and you are my student, and I think this has gone on long enough."

He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to make eye contact with him. His eyes were wild, darkest of browns bleeding into black, and she couldn't help but flinch at the frost in his gaze. "I agree, Hermione. This has gone on quite enough. I'm tired of playing games with you. I know how you feel for me, and I'm sick of this 'I'm your professor' bullshit you pull. It's always conveniently timed when you feel uncomfortable—where was it when you were moaning my name?"

She flushed from her toes to her face, a burning path that she thought for certain would catch fire if given the opportunity.

"And to use Viktor Krum to make me jealous," he tutted, shaking his head, "was a huge mistake. You surely seemed interested in him when you cringed away from his touch." He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her into his chest, and she let him—effectively proving a very obvious point.

He laid her hand on his chest and curled a hand around her waist, leaning forward so their lips were brushing.

"You respond so well to my touch," he murmured, voice low. "It's almost like you _want_ me."

Hermione shook her head, the movement rubbing her lips gently against his. "What I want doesn't matter," she stated firmly. "You are my student, I am your professor, and this is entirely inappropriate."

He sighed, breath fanning over her face.

"Let it be inappropriate, then."

His mouth descended on hers, gently at first, as if challenging her to break apart from him.

But something ran through her at the thought of Tom taking another girl to Hogsmeade, the thought of him holding another girl's hand, the thought of another girl being kissed gently just the way she was—

She kissed him back with force and felt him smile into their kiss, triumphant, before reaching up and grabbing both sides of his face, effectively holding him to his current position.

He moaned and she marveled at the sound, it being a perfect combination of man and _Tom,_ the person she had dreamt about, the infuriating man she had longed for.

He picked her up and sat her on a dusty table, pushing her down until she was more horizontal, and climbed on top of her.

She bucked her hips into his and he snarled, kissing her harder and returning the movement, his excitement evident. She thought she would die at the feeling of his length rubbing against her in just the right spot, his repeated movements timed just right.

He began tearing at her robes, desperately pulling until his fingers met the skin of her abdomen and she hissed at the cold touch of his hand in comparison to her warm body.

"Fuck, Hermione," He groaned, slowly trailing his hand down her abdomen until his fingers rested just underneath the waistband of her pants. "I can't—"

"Then don't," she replied quickly, caught up in the moment and desperate for him to keep kissing her.

He deftly unclasped her pants and pulled down her zipper, revealing her pink knickers; she would have been embarrassed at the girly colour had she not been so aroused at the look in Tom's eyes.

"I'm going to touch you now," he said slowly, as if he were warning a prowling lion, "and if you're going to stop me, you need to do it _right now_."

But she pulled his face back to hers, kissing him into silence, and he continued his trail down to the wetness of her knickers.

He moaned into her mouth and she shot her hips upwards at the touch, the sensation sending shockwaves throughout her entire body.

"You're so wet, Hermione," he purred, hand remaining outside her knickers but rubbing her in just the right way.

"I am," she panted in agreement, wiggling so much he chuckled under his breath.

"Hold still."

She struggled to contain the movement of her hips and the quaking of her legs as he continued on, rubbing and flicking and simply _driving her crazy_ until she felt pressure building up inside her abdomen.

"Tom, I can't—"

"Yes, you can."

"I really can't, I'm going to—"

He silenced her with his lips and continued rubbing her clit through the fabric of her knickers until he hit her in the perfect way, the build up too much for her to handle.

She came hard and fast, harder than she ever had when touching herself, and closed her eyes, allowing the feeling to take over her body until the spasms in her lower abdomen slowed to a complete stop.

"That was—"

"I know," she panted, reveling in the feeling of him on top of her one more time before pushing him off, patting down her hair self-consciously.

"Do you want me to help you..?" He trailed off, motioning towards her entire being instead, unsure of just where and how he could help.

"No, I'm fine," She refastened her pants and found herself thankful no one would be able to see the state of her knickers.

"Alright." He cleared his throat and looked around the room, readjusting himself painfully as he hissed whenever he moved. "I'll be here for a bit, it seems."

Her eyes widened in understanding and he laughed.

"Do you want me to..?" she began, gesturing towards the bulge in his pants.

"Reciprocate?" He chuckled, deep and husky, "No need. All in due time, Hermione—this _will_ happen again."

She avoided eye contact instead of responding and she could feel his irritation rising at her sidestepping his conversation.

She pretended she didn't notice.

"I've gotta go get ready for the Slug Club," she murmured, avoiding eye contact.

"As do I."

"I suppose I'll see you there, then? With Pansy?" She questioned nonchalantly, keeping her voice steady.

He laughed and her cheeks flushed.

"No, I'll be going alone this time," he said, approaching her and brushing her hair back, "it's a shame you can't say the same."

"I'm not necessarily _going_ with Viktor—"

"But he thinks you are." He sighed, seemingly disappointed. "You might want to remedy that, lest I have to for you."

She grimaced at his ultimatum, not knowing _how_ he would go about it but knowing he'd find some way without incriminating himself.

"Brilliant."

He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head and shooed her out of the room, staying back to refrain from drawing attention to their rendezvous.

Hermione anxiously continued the path she was on before the interruption, heading towards her chambers and trying not to act suspiciously.

Whether she succeeded was another story, though, as she couldn't keep her eyes from darting around her to be certain no one was watching her.

How do you refrain from acting guilty when you are, in fact, _very_ guilty?

 **A/N: Some low-key smut was 100% necessary and no one can convince me otherwise. Find me on Tumblr darklordriddle**


	14. Chapter 14

"You look great, Hermione," Harry beamed, joining her in her chambers to prepare for the first Slug Club party of the school year. "The Gryffindor in me protests the colour, but it's very flattering."

She stood in front of a full-length mirror, twisting this way and that way to get a good look at herself. She had to admit, she cleaned up pretty nicely; she had chosen a moss green silk dress that accentuated her thin stature, falling just beneath her knees with a slit trailing up her thigh. She also chose to forgo the Sleakeazy's hair potion and allowed her curls to remain the riotous mane she was most recognized for, simply letting her tresses tumble down her mid-back.

"Too bad I'm bloody well freezing," She ground out, body trembling from the perpetual cold breeze in the drafty castle. She fought back the urge to rub her hands up and down her bare arms to get the friction to spark up some warmth in her ever-cold body.

"...Have you forgotten?" He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to catch on. "You're a _witch_ , Hermione. Cast a warming spell and you'll be good for the night." He exaggerated shaking his head, tutting at her. "You and your muggle habits."

"My muggle habits can come in handy," She said, petulant as she cast a warming spell over her body. She sighed in relief as her body heated to an appropriate temperature. "It may have slipped my mind on just exactly how, but it'll come to me and you'll be sorry for mocking me when it does."

He simply shot her a cheeky smile, dredging up his dress robes from a large white box and grimacing.

"I suppose I should put these on, then." He wandered into her bathroom and reemerged moments later—Hermione barked out a laugh, not fully able to comprehend the sight in front of her.

Harry was reminiscent of a toddler playing dress up in too-big clothes, the simple black and white dress robes nearly two sizes too big, hanging off of him horribly.

"That's the last time I order dress robes via owl," He grouched, holding out his arms and grimacing at his appearance. "It doesn't fit—guess I can't go." He shrugged, all too happy to avoid the party he hadn't wanted to attend in the first place.

"Oh, you're going," Hermione said matter-of-factly, mentally picturing his robes adhering to his body more comfortably and flourishing her wand, her thoughts coming to fruition in mere seconds. "It fits now—no more excuses."

"Splendid." Harry grumbled.

She grinned at him and dragged him in front of the mirror.

"There. Now we both look acceptable."

"Yeah, yeah. Should we practice our fake smiles and curtseys or can we get on with it?"

"You should practice holding in your sarcasm, really, Harry," she rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the stomach. "but yes, let's get on with it."

* * *

The two made their way towards Slughorn who was chatting with a devilishly handsome young man. He stood tall with tailored dress robes that appeared to be a very dark shade of black; they drew attention to his ivory skin and accentuated his broad shoulders and lean body. His dark curls were perfectly styled, not a single hair out of place, and his face was lit up in amusement— whether he was laughing with or at Slughorn was yet to be determined, but his expression of mirth was breathtaking.

Tom Riddle certainly knew how to dress to impress, and she was very impressed indeed, if not wholly melting at the sight of him.

"Ah! Harry, m'boy! And Hermione! Come join us!" Slughorn bellowed, face flushed. It appeared he had already started drinking before the party had properly begun. "I was just talking with Tom here about his shot at being Minister of Magic—don't you agree that he'd be a shoo-in?"

"Oh, absolutely. Tom would do _wonderful_ in politics." She said very seriously, nodding in agreement. "he has shown to be extremely capable of anything he puts his mind to."

Tom quirked an eyebrow and her mind returned to an abandoned classroom—

She stopped her train of thought immediately, fighting back the blush that was forming on her chest.

Now was not the time.

"I agree," Harry nodded, already bored with the conversation. "drink, 'Mione?"

"Oh, I've some of the finest whiskey, you simply _must_ try it—" Slughorn's sentence trailed off as he accompanied Harry to the drinks table. Hermione stifled a laugh at the look of pure horror in Harry's face before he disappeared into the crowd.

She was relieved to be excluded from that journey, but was effectively left with Tom Riddle. By herself. When he looked like _that._

Fuck.

"You look beautiful, Professor," Tom said, eyes burning and making her knees weak.

It felt weird to return to formalities, and she stumbled over his name. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle. As do you."

"Can a man be beautiful?"

"I think so," she mused, eyes darting around the room to see if anyone had noticed the pair.

"We're fine, you know," he noticed her suspicions and sighed. "Just a student and professor mingling."

"Yes, well. I don't want to 'mingle' too long—"

"Ah! Hermy-own!" A voice interrupted. Hermione fought back from cringing.

"It's Hermione, for Salazar's sake," Tom growled quietly, lips barely moving as he composed his face into something more amiable before Viktor approached.

"Shut up," she said under her breath, turning to greet Viktor.

"So glad to see you again, Viktor," she gushed, exaggerating her excitement in an attempt to cover Tom's less than warm welcome. "Enjoying the party so far?" She allowed herself to be hugged by the larger man, counting to three before pulling herself away.

"It has been very interesting. That Slughorn—he's a kiss ass, yes?"

Hermione coughed out a laugh. She hadn't expected Viktor to be so forward with his feelings towards Slughorn.

"Just a bit—"

"I'm sorry," Tom interrupted, tone sickly sweet. "I must be going. Head boy duties and all. Mr. Krum. Professor." He nodded to them both before stalking off, shoulders stiff as he walked away.

"Vats the matter vith him?" Viktor questioned, eyes following Tom through the small crowd.

"I think his girlfriend came with another date," she replied absentmindedly, waving at an unaccompanied Harry who was carrying two drinks.

"I can see vhy he'd be upset," Viktor answered. "that vould be maddening to see someone you cared for vith another man." He looked at her meaningfully and she quickly looked away, darting forward to take her drink from Harry.

"Sorry, Viktor. Didn't know you were here or I'd have grabbed you one," Harry said, not willing to give up his own drink for the sake of another. "Good to see you, mate."

The two shook hands awkwardly, not entirely familiar with the other, and Hermione sighed.

"Harry, dance with me," She said, a demand rather than a question. She threw back her drink and winced as it burned its way down her throat and rested in her chest.

Harry raised his eyebrows at her but finished his drink as well, sitting both of their empty glasses on a table and leading her out where other couples were slowly spinning in circles. Not quite dancing, but not standing still, either. She could contend with that.

She rested her hands on Harry's shoulders and he took her waist, both joining in to the slow movements that surrounded them.

"So. You and Krum?" He questioned, putting too much effort into being disinterested.

"I wish you wouldn't even put us together in a sentence," she huffed, glancing around the room to ensure Viktor wasn't somehow near. "He's a good guy, but I'm wholly uninterested in him."

"It seems he feels differently about you."

"I don't know how to be any more obvious that our relationship is completely platonic," she grouched, nails digging into Harry's shoulder. He winced and she apologized, loosening her hold.

"I can pretend to be your boyfriend, if you'd like. That'll scare him off." He puffed out his chest, the epitome of manliness. Hermione threw back her head and laughed.

"As nice as that is, I don't think it'd be quite believable."

"Is that a shot at me dating Draco?"

"No, although that's another good reason as to why this wouldn't work," she teased, pushing his chest gently. "Oh, bollocks. He's coming over here."

She pretended not to notice, ducking her head down and completing another rotation with Harry before Viktor cut in.

"May I interrupt?" Viktor asked, holding his hand out for Hermione's.

"Sure, mate. She's all yours."

It took everything she had to fight back from hitting Harry, settling for a deathly glare before turning to accept Viktor's hand. He grinned as their skin touched and she had to refrain from shivering; his hand was very cold in comparison to hers, and she wasn't looking forward to them being on her body in the least.

"You look vunderful, Hermy-own," He said, placing his hands on her waist. She stiffly put her hands on his shoulders, moving her feet awkwardly to keep Viktor from stepping on them; they weren't even technically dancing, just moving, and he was already coming close to stomping on her toes.

"Thank you," she said. "You look very nice."

He laughed loudly, making the people dancing around them shoot him curious glances before returning to their partners.

"Is that all? Just nice?" He questioned. Was he fishing for more compliments?

She looked him up and down, taking notice of his red dress robes with gold accents that clung to him, accentuating his muscles that were surely hard-earned from hours on the quidditch pitch. He would be attractive if she were someone else.

"Er… you look handsome?" She commented, hoping it would be enough to placate him.

"Thank you," He murmured, pulling her closer. "I vas surprised to get your letter, you know, but I am happy that you sent it."

She felt distressed, not wanting to be this close to him but also not wanting to offend him in front of so many people. She pushed back slightly, distancing herself as much as she could without blatantly walking away.

"About that," she started, taking a deep breath to prepare for the inevitable let down her next sentence would cause. "I like you, Viktor—"

"May I cut in?" A familiar voice interrupted and relief washed over her.

Maybe she wouldn't have to have that horrible conversation at all—well, for the moment, at least.

"Sure," Viktor responded, annoyance evident in his voice.

He allowed Tom to take Hermione by the waist and stalked off towards the drink table.

She rested her hands on his broad shoulders, reaching up a bit farther than she had to with Harry or Viktor. Tom towered over her and looked down at her, eyes burning with some unexplained emotion.

"You like him, do you?" He asked casually, slowly rotating the pair to the tune of the soft music.

"That's interesting."

"Tom, now's not the time to talk about this—"

"Nobody can hear us, Hermione," he sighed, disappointment evident in his voice. "I'm not ignorant enough to allow us to be heard."

"I never thought you were ignorant," she grumbled, thankful for the wordless casting of muffliato nonetheless.

"It appears you do, though," he mused, baritone dropping an octave. "You were expected to deter Krum's advances, and yet I overhear you welcoming them."

"You interrupted me," she ground out, exasperated. "I was in the middle of telling him I _didn't_ care for him when you cut in. That's on _you,_ not _me._ Now I'll have to find another opportunity to tell him."

"He held you in an inappropriate manner," He accused with narrowed eyes as if she had control over every move Viktor made.

"And I immediately pulled away." she whispered furiously, not willing to raise her voice despite knowing she wouldn't be heard.

"He hugged you."

"He's my _friend ,_ Tom. Friends hug friends. It isn't the end of the goddamn world. You're not my keeper."

He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes. He appeared to be mentally counting to ten—no, twenty—before reopening them.

"You're infuriating." He said simply.

She barked out a laugh and he raised a dark, questioning eyebrow.

"Oh, y'know. The pot and the kettle."

To her surprise, he let out a soft laugh—one that was genuine, and an absolute relief to hear.

"I suppose you're right."

"Could you repeat that?"

"You heard me, Hermione," he said seriously. "I'm—I'm not used to feeling this intensely." He grimaced before continuing. "It's maddening. _You're_ maddening. I don't handle insubordination well, and here you are, galavanting about, doing whatever you want." he shook his head. "I _need_ to have control."

"You can't control me, Tom." She sighed. "I'm not an object you own. I will do what I want, when I want. We're not even together. _Can't_ be together." She found herself whispering at the end, afraid to say it any louder.

"You're mine," he growled, uncomfortably tightening his grip on her waist. She winced and he loosened it. "You're mine, and darling Viktor's pathetic advances won't change that."

The quiet tune ended and she found herself thanking Merlin for the interruption—she wasn't willing to have this conversation right now, no matter how safe Tom claimed it to be. Hell, she'd avoid this particular topic forever if she could.

She quickly pulled herself out of Tom's arms and gave him a quick smile before turning to leave, ignoring the ice in his stare as she did so.

Hermione searched the room for Harry and found him unsurprisingly by the drinks, looking miserable as ever, and hurried over towards him.

"Where's Viktor?"

"I think Sluggy got his claws into him," Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "You want another drink?"

She nodded and accepted a golden coloured liquid from her friend, throwing it back without hesitation. Tonight had been long enough as it was, and it certainly wasn't going to go by any faster without some assistance.

* * *

The rest of the party was a blur, and she couldn't be more thankful for it. She had managed to avoid dancing with Viktor more than once more, and avoided contact with Tom altogether—she had felt his cold gaze on her throughout the night, but she managed to pretend he wasn't there and he didn't bother approaching her again, instead seeming to opt to stick with glaring from across the room and dealing with Slughorn for the remainder of the night.

She finally felt comfortable leaving when she noticed some of her students taking their leave as well; she didn't want to be rude and bail first, but she didn't want to be the one left behind and stuck with Sluggy much longer than ever necessary, listening to him go on and on about accomplishments of others she wasn't even familiar with.

Harry, on the other hand, hadn't cared about being rude, and left at the first sign of the party slowing down, leaving her to herself. Brilliant.

She took note of Viktor being trapped by Slughorn and caught his eye, pointing at her wrist to indicate the time and motioning towards the door, shrugging her shoulders apologetically.

It appeared she wouldn't get away with such a brief goodbye, however, as Viktor ended his conversation with Slughorn quickly, signalling for her to wait for him before she left.

Bollocks.

"He's quite the talker," Viktor huffed, catching his breath from the gentle jog he broke into to catch up with her, the pair exiting the room and heading into the corridor. "It's a shame he doesn't know when to stop."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Slughorn's a handful, but he's got a good heart, I think," she said absentmindedly, looking around the corridor for signs of students lingering about. "Thanks for coming tonight, though. I know it's been long and tiresome, but it'll be something he raves about for the next century."

"Anything for you, Hermy-own," He said sincerely, eyes burning into hers.

Well, it was now or never, wasn't it? She needed to put a stop to this crush before it advanced any further. She halted after turning another corner, pulling him to the side.

"Listen, Viktor—"

He raised a finger to her lips, effectively halting her sentence, and she struggled to hold back from flinching away.

"Do not vorry. I know of your past with the red-haired boy," He said, quitely for him, but still not at an appropriate level, "I vill not rush this."

"I'm not worried about rushing. This isn't—"

Chapped lips crushed into hers and she froze, eyes wide open, her body feeling as though she had immobulus cast upon her.

Viktor lingered for a moment before pulling away.

"I'm glad you are not vorried, then," He replied cheekily, winking at her.

She continued to stare, mouth slightly agape, still unable to move.

"I must be heading out. Ve vill talk later, certainly."

Before she could protest, correct him, or even utter a single word, he disappeared around the corner, effectively vanishing from her sight.

Hermione brought a hand to her mouth, shock still running through her body and mind, unsure of how she got herself into this mess and even more unsure of how to get herself out of it.

"What a cozy conversation," A low baritone said, matter-of-factly, reaching her before she could see who it belonged to.

She didn't need to see to know who it was, however, or to know how much shit she had managed to get herself into.

As Tom manifested around the corner, his tall figure casting a shadow over her in the torch-lit corridor, she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"Such a shame," Tom murmured, the ice in his voice washing over her and causing her to shiver despite the warming spell still encompassing her body, "I had hoped you wouldn't need to learn what happens when someone displeases me."


	15. Chapter 15

Feeling immobilized and being immobilized were two completely different things—something she realized much to her chagrin as she was carried blindly for quite some time, unable to move the slightest muscle.

She was embarrassed that he had gotten the drop on her. How had he managed to petrify her so quickly when she was already grasping for her wand before he could finish his sentence?

But he was quick and clever, not needing to do more than stare at her to perform the petrificus totalus spell, causing her to fall back instantaneously. She was sure it would have hurt if she had any feeling left to her body—nonetheless, she would end up with quite the bruise after this ordeal was over.

She'd be lucky if that was all she left with.

Yes, unfortunately for her, Tom was clever, and instantly cast a blindfolding spell to prevent her from seeing where they were going. She could only hear the sound of his footsteps for the longest time, a maddening tapping sound as the leather hit the cobblestone floor repeatedly.

At one point, she swore she heard hissing—what could possibly cause a hissing sound in the castle? A burst pipe, maybe?—but it ended just as soon as it began, and the never-ending tapping resumed. She felt she would go mad from the noise before the journey ended.

Approximately another five minutes of walking and the hissing returned tenfold, much louder and closer to her than before; but this time, something hissed back.

If she had any feeling left to her body, she knew she'd be covered in goosebumps from head to toe.

It almost sounded as though the two hissing entities were having a conversation—absolutely absurd, right? What were they doing, standing back and watching two snakes have a quick interlude before continuing to wherever the hell they were going?

She cursed herself once more for her slow reflexes and simply waited. That's all that she could do at this point—wait, and curse Tom for deciding to do this to her.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the aforementioned bastard removed her blindfold, and she blinked rapidly at the influx of light that assaulted her senses. Not that they were in a particularly well-lit room, she noticed, but any light after that length of darkness was difficult to bear.

She squinted up at Tom and felt her body release from the body-binding curse. Cold instantly rushed into her bones and made them its home, causing her to shudder violently and wrap her arms around herself to restore any heat she could manage to savour.

"Fuck," she chattered, searching blindly for her wand, desperately wanting that warming spell she had over her for most of the night. She was wholly underdressed for the climate of wherever the hell they were. "Where's my wand, Tom?"

"Oh, Hermione," Tom tutted, shaking his head. "Surely you don't find me that stupid. Your wand is safe and sound with me for the time being." He patted his dress coat pocket, indicating where her wand was "safely" stored.

She rolled her eyes at his response, knowing full-well he withheld her wand to keep her from instantaneously sending him flying across the room.

"Where are we, anyway?"

She looked around the unfamiliar place, trying to find hints of anything that would give away their location. She took notice of a wide array of pillars, varied by large statues of what appeared to be snakes with their mouths open, hissing. At the end of the room stood an enormous statue, built from the floor to the ceiling, of an old man with a flowing beard, long hair, and dead eyes. The entire room centered around that statue, making it feel like a temple of sorts dedicated to the man.

She also took note of the unfortunate amount of dampness surrounding her—especially underneath her, as the wetness seeping through her dress reached her skin and made her even colder than before.

"Take a guess," He purred, motioning to the space around the pair. "It's somewhere entirely safe, where no person would think to reach us."

"I think we have different meanings of safe, then, Tom," She mumbled mostly to herself, but heard Tom chuckle loudly. "I haven't the slightest idea of where we are." She struggled to stand, legs still stiff from the curse, and squared her shoulders, unwilling to let Tom see her in a weakened state.

"Well, if you're that desperate for me to spoil it, I suppose I'll tell you," He said cheerfully, in high spirits and making Hermione increasingly more uncomfortable by the minute. "Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets."

As he said the name, the remainder of the unlit torches flashed to life, bringing more light to the now terrifying enclosed room.

"The Chamber of Secrets?" she repeated, taking a step back from the mad man in front of her. The only thing she knew of the Chamber of Secrets really came from him, and that wasn't much—but the one thing she did know was the last time it had been brought up, someone died.

Her already sluggish blood froze in her veins.

"Quite ominous, I know," He said conversationally, following her movements, "but it's only appropriate for the Heir of Slytherin to have his own dwelling, don't you think?"

"What are you on about, Tom?" She continued backtracking, and he continued stalking forward, never allowing more distance than what he wanted between the pair.

"You're taking all the fun out of this, you know," He sighed, running a hand through his curly, dark hair. "Here's this big reveal that I've planned, and you won't even acknowledge any of the clues I've given you."

She blinked up at him, eyes wide, as she took into consideration the few things he said to her since their unfortunate arrival in the chamber.

"So… You're the heir of Slytherin, then?" She concluded, no emotion present in her voice. She didn't want to let him see that she was frightened, and she definitely didn't want to encourage him to continue on his tirade. She merely wanted to return to her chambers, safe and warm, far away from Tom.

"There's the Hermione I know." He dazzled her with a face-splitting grin, holding his arms out wide for her to behold her surroundings. "Welcome to the chamber built by Salazar Slytherin himself. When he and Godric Gryffindor disagreed on the allowance of mud—muggleborns into the school, Salazar left, but not before leaving behind this wonderful addition to the castle, only accessible to those of his blood."

"That would explain all the hissing, then," She mumbled, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, praying for the friction to heat her up in the slightest way. "And you thought it a great idea to bring a _muggleborn_ into the den of purebloods _why?"_

"I needed to show you what I'm capable of, of course," He said simply. "I've told you time and time again that I am not to be tested, and yet here you've been, going against my every will and want. It's time to put that to an end."

"And bringing me to a secret chamber will do that how?" She questioned him further, not fully wanting an answer but continuing forward anyway. "Do you plan to torture me down here? Leave me for dead? All because Viktor kissed me?"

"Back to thinking less of me then, are we?" He tutted, shaking his head. "I could never cause you harm, love; not only because I don't want to, but because I know the repercussions that could befall my reputation if something terrible happened to a beloved professor. Surely, you've outgrown this thought process that involves me being a complete idiot."

He sighed, looking her up and down before taking off his jacket and offering it to her, but not before removing her wand. She took it hesitantly, not enjoying the way the conversation was going; but if she was going to die, she'd rather do it with some warmth to her body.

"If I wanted harm to befall you, I'd have someone else do it. Simple as that."

"How reassuring."

"You wanted honesty." He shrugged his broad shoulders, the epitome of care-free.

"Honestly, then, how does bringing me here teach me a lesson?" She looked around the room again, taking in the hissing snakes, and shuddered. "It's scary, but sort of weak in terms of frightening me out of my ways."

"Oh, you haven't seen the best part," He grinned and her stomach churned. "Not that you really should see it—bit of a hazard, that is, for muggleborns. You might want to close your eyes."

She stared at him for another moment, trying to determine how serious he was, before realizing that he almost was always serious. She squeezed her eyes shut, releasing a shaky breath.

The hissing noise she had her twice before resumed, and she now realized that it came from directly in front of her—Tom.

The Heir of Slytherin; of course he was a parselmouth.

She cursed under her breath and wrapped herself further into Tom's jacket, hoping wearing it would somehow repel some of the harm that could come her way.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, Slytherin had a thing for snakes," He began after a long string of hissing. The sound of stone moving against stone began, and he spoke more loudly to be heard over it. "And what snake is more powerful than the great basilisk?"

"Tom, please—" She squeezed her eyes together harder, unsure of what to ask of him.

Please let me go? Please show me how the hell to get out of here? Please, please tell me there isn't a giant basilisk living somewhere in this ancient castle, ready to kill muggleborns at the drop of a hat?

"As long as you listen to me, love, you've nothing to fear," Tom's breath fanned over her face, now mere inches from her. "I know you struggle to follow directions, but this really is in your best interest."

Scales sliding against the ground created a sound that reverberated throughout the chamber and up her spine, making goosebumps rise all over her body.

Tom began hissing again, and Hermione fought back to keep herself from gagging. Fear radiated off of her in waves, and she was certain the creature could pick up on it, but she couldn't bloody well help it; the only thing keeping her safe was Tom, and he wasn't in his right mind at the moment—or really, was he ever?

"She won't hurt you, Hermione. She's completely in my command."

"Brilliant. The man who's pissed off at me is the one controlling my safety. Just what I've always wanted."

"You're simply here to learn a lesson," Tom huffed, indignant, as if he had a right to be offended by her questioning his motives.

"And what makes you think I won't take this lesson and expose you for what you are?" She snarled, tired of being baited time and time again.

Rather than being properly chastised, he laughed. Loudly.

"The fact that we've been having an affair certainly doesn't bode well for you, Hermione."

"That's on both of us. Not just me."

"Would you truly risk your life's work and reputation to teach _me_ a lesson?" He snorted, hissing again and seemingly dismissing the basilisk as the sound of scales against cobblestone retreated into the background. "You can open your eyes. It's safe."

Her eyes instantly snapped open, glaring blindly until finding the source of her anger.

"A muggleborn died. I remember that very clearly from our last conversation surrounding the chamber. And if you're the reason the chamber opened, then you're the reason an innocent person died." She stalked forward, poking him in the chest with each word.

He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest, cradling it.

"That was an accident. The girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't stop her from looking into the basilisk's eyes. It was instantaneous. Nothing could be done." He cast his eyes down and away from her guiltily, chewing on his bottom lip.

Hermione wasn't convinced.

"So it was an accident. Someone still died, and since you were rewarded for helping find the "killer," who else suffered because of this?"

"The oaf had it coming," Tom growled, eyes narrowing at her. "He was raising killer spiders. He would've caused harm to someone at some point—I merely protected the general population from the possible repercussions."

"Okay, but—"

He raised a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"No matter how you look at things, this was all a giant misunderstanding. Things balanced themselves out in the end. I keep the basilisk locked in the chamber and use the chamber as a personal getaway of sorts. No harm coming to any person." He raised a hand like a boy scout. "Honest."

"You just bring professors down here to threaten them and make them see things your way then, is that right?" She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her face. She wasn't letting him off the hook easily. "I still have half a mind to report you." She took on the voice of Head Girl, reminiscent of her Hogwarts days.

"Report me, and I report you. Ah ah," He interrupted her before she could start arguing again. "I'm an innocent student being taken advantage of by a professor who knows much better than to get into things with me. No matter how you try to sway things, I'll win. I have quite the upper-hand here. You'll find I can be very persuasive."

She tried to imagine having all of her hard work ripped away from her at a moment's notice, all because of her poor decisions to get involved with a student. She knew she was making a mistake with Tom, but kept ignoring the potential consequences that she would face—and losing everything she worked for throughout her life was one of those consequences.

She swallowed hard, refusing to look Tom in the eye as tears began forming in hers.

"I think you're finally seeing things my way," Tom murmured, grabbing her chin gently and pulling her attention back to him. "We're in this together, Hermione. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on from this."

"I don't think we should do this anymore," She said, jerking her head and pulling her chin out of his grasp. "It's obviously a mistake. We aren't right for each other. I can't blindly obey you the way you want me to, and I'm far too old to be doing this with you."

"Not this again," He groaned, grabbing onto her shoulders and gently shaking her. "We. Are. Meant. To. Be. Together." He emphasized each word with a shake, venom in his voice. "You are mine, and I'm not letting you get away."

It was a conversation they seemed to always return to, and one that she was tired of having as well; but she knew in her heart that what she was doing wasn't right, and she couldn't allow herself to continue with him, no matter how intense her feelings were becoming for him.

The fact that he decided to pull her into the Chamber of Secrets to teach her a lesson was a bit of a deal breaker, too, but she couldn't let him know that, lest she never get to leave. So she did the only thing she could do—lie.

"Okay, Tom," She sighed, gracing him with a small smile, "You win."

"Could you repeat that?"

"You heard me. I'll—I'll try to listen better. I won't be perfect, but I'll take your wants into consideration more often, okay?"

Tom's eyes lit up and she couldn't help but take in a breath at the beauty of it.

"That's just what I've been wanting to hear, Hermione," He said, knotting a hand in her hair and pulling her closer.

Just what he's been wanting to hear, so he would completely drop the subject and move forward with his life—exactly what she had wanted.

He gently placed his lips upon hers and she allowed herself to be kissed, counting to five before pulling away.

"I'd really rather avoid snogging in this place, if you don't mind. I'd quite like to leave."

He laughed and kissed her once more. She wrinkled her nose.

"Then leave, we shall," He said. "But I can't let you know how to get here, unfortunately, just as a precaution. So I'm going to have to knock you out again."

Before she could protest, she was on her arse again, staring up at the dark, dusty ceiling.

"Sorry, love."

As he blindfolded her once more, she normalized her breathing as much as she could, calculating a plan to end things with Tom once and for all.

* * *

Bill Weasley

Tent Outside Pyramid of Djoser, Southern Pavilion Necropolis

Saqqara, Egypt

 _Bill,_

 _I was devastated to hear the news about Garrett—this goes without saying, but my heart has been with you and Sam since I've received your last letter._

 _I don't know what to say. I can't believe this happened, I can't believe we lost him, and I can't believe I haven't been with you to help in the time since his passing. I feel awful, and I hope to make things up to you in the near future._

 _As the holidays approach, I plan to speak with Professor Dumbledore about returning to Egypt to be with you and Sam. I want to work towards Garrett's goal of breaking into the chambers and make it so all of his hard work was for something. I want to be present for you and Sam—you're my team, and I feel so horrible for abandoning you during this difficult time. I will make up for my absence any way that I can._

 _Know that I will be there soon, and will leave as soon as I have permission._

 _Sending all my love,_

 _Hermione_


End file.
